


The Braavosi Job

by Roseetarrows



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crime, Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Con Artists, Eventual Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Eventual Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Explicit Language, F/M, Fusion of Westeros and the real world, Heist, Humor, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Modern Robin Hoods, Very Minor, criminals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roseetarrows/pseuds/Roseetarrows
Summary: Hitter...Hacker...Grifter...Thief...Mastermind.Led by a struggling alcoholic and former fraud investigator, Tyrion Lannister, he and four of the best criminals in Westeros use their powers for good to help the powerless.  Modern-day Robin Hoods with a splash of  con-y, heist-y fun.A re-imagining of the TV show Leverage featuring our favorite characters from Westeros.  Adapted from the first Leverage episode, titled The Nigerian Job.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 108
Kudos: 86





	1. "I Want You To Steal Them Back"

**Author's Note:**

> So...I'm finally doing this! 
> 
> I, like many of you, fell in love with Gendrya and Sansan years ago, but really fell into the rabbit hole of AO3 when I followed a link from Tumblr to a Gendrya fic in December 2019 (Friday, I'm In Love by Starrynightshade, if you're curious). Over the course of the months following, I became borderline obsessed. I accidentally read a Sansan fic one day, immediately falling down THAT rabbit hole as well. All of this is to say that I've read some incredible works in the last eight months, and I have been deeply inspired. I itched to get back into writing, which I hadn't really done since high school. 
> 
> Around June, I found out that Leverage was available for free through Amazon. I'd loved it when it first aired, but this time, I couldn't get the image as Sandor as Elliot out of my head. It felt like I was hit in the face with inspiration. The team really lends itself to the GOT AU treatment (especially the characters of Elliot, Parker, and Nate). I searched for one on here, but couldn't find one, so...here I am. 
> 
> I borrowed heavily from the script used in the Nigerian Job partially because I am terrified of dialogue but also because all the characters fit their roles so seamlessly. See end notes for why I chose which character for which role as they're being unveiled. Sansa takes a while to appear, but I PROMISE she's coming, and she plays a huge role. 
> 
> I was inspired by DracoimreH to use text from my chapter as the chapter titles. If you haven't read any of their works and you're in the Sansan club, go ahead and do that now? What have you been doing with your life? The first chapter of Sansa and the Beast is "Wow. That's...really fucking rude." and I'm STILL laughing about it. 
> 
> Like any good History major, I give credit (though, sadly, not in Chicago format): None of these characters are mine. All credit to GRRM and Dean Devlin, John Rogers & Chris Downey.

Devyn sighed as he put down the phone. Two more hours of this shit, then he could go home and pretend he doesn’t have to come back every other day. His life was just a series of drunken patrons after the next. Most were sad sacks whose lives had clearly gone off the rails. Occasionally, he’d have to serve a bunch of drunk bachelorettes. He didn’t know which was worse.

“I checked. Airport shuttle’s in 15 minutes,” the gruff bartender muttered to the short man deeply in his cups. Devyn set down the third…no the fourth glass of Cabernet (which was admittedly quite impressive given the man’s stature) in front of the man and turned to help the patron on the other side of the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the drunken dwarf pouring whiskey out of a tiny bottle, the kind you pay forty crowns for in a minibar, into his cup. Technically, that was frowned upon, but Devyn literally could not be paid enough to care past being absolutely disgusted by that combination. 

*****TYRION LANNISTER, EX-EMPLOYEE OF LANNISTER CORP.*****

The drunken dwarf, Tyrion, was interrupted in his actions by a soft voice clearing his throat. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Lannister, sorry, I know who you are. I’ve, uh, excuse me. I—I am Petyr Baelish. I’ve read all about you.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he took a deep swig of his red wine/whiskey concoction (the aim was not flavor, but drunkenness, oblivion), annoyed at the interruption. He turned to see who was approaching him at the bar. A well-dressed man, shorter than average but taller than himself, was approaching, sitting directly next to Tyrion. He had grey hair and a goatee, and his cold, greyish-green eyes were bouncing around, never staying still for long. He was carrying, on his shoulder, a heavy-looking, but designer, messenger bag, and in his hand was a mojito he’d ordered upon entering the bar. The smell of mint and rum flooded Tyrion’s senses. On his lapel was a mockingbird pin the size of a thimble. Tyrion froze, staring at him in disbelief and annoyance. The intruder, Petyr, continued to speak, stuttering gently, possibly out of intimidation, which caused Tyrion to actually snort a bit. ‘ _ Someone actually intimidated by me?’  _

Petyr continued, oblivious to Tyrion’s inner monologue. “I know for example that-that when you found that stolen Monet painting in Dorne, you probably saved your family’s company what…20-25 million crowns? Then there was that identity theft thing and you saved your family’s company… I don’t even know how many millions of crowns, but I just know that when you needed them… What happened to your wife is the kind of thing--

Rage poured through Tyrion, as he slammed his glass down and held up the large empty charger plate that was situated next to him.

“You know that part of the conversation where I bludgeon you nine or ten times? We’re coming up on that pretty quick!”

Petyr blanched, visibly shaken. “I just…I just want to offer you a job.”

“What do you have for me then?” Tyrion asked, mildly intrigued but mostly to indulge the man. He was absolutely not going to take a job from this man. He was going to finish his whiskey, then board his plane, on which he was going to drink three-no four more, and then collapse into a passed-out mess so he could once more forget his heartbreak. Nothing was going to come between him and that eventuality. But Tyrion’s curiosity was screaming from the recesses of his mind. It wouldn’t hurt to hear this guy out. This especially considering he hadn’t been employed at Lannister Corp. for over a year. While he was employed there, he did all kinds of dirty work, but mainly focused on his talents as the best investigator in the business. It was his job to think like the criminals and find sneaky ways to manipulate the system, and then to catch them, thus saving his family millions. He couldn’t work for them, though. Not anymore. Not for a year now. While he’d kept himself going on savings and by doing contract work here and there, right now, all he wanted was to drink, not to work for some sniveling, blubbering, mess. 

Tyrion shrugged, indicating to Petyr to continue. 

Petyr looked him in the eyes, for possibly the first time, and asked, gently, “Do you know anything about airplane design?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I could give it a shot, you know, you give me a pencil and one of those little rulers. But I will warn you, I was never much good at drawing. That was my brother’s thing.” Tyrion knew he was being facetious but couldn’t be bothered to care. This hopeless prick interrupted his alone time.

Baelish squared up. “Somebody stole my airplane designs.”

Tyrion knew where this was going. He’d tracked down hundreds, if not thousands of properties for his family. This would be no different. How boring. “Oh, I see and you’d like me to find them right?”

Petyr looked from side to side, as if surveying the bar to make sure there were no threats. ‘ _ He looks like a bird, afraid of its surroundings. Maybe that’s why he’s got that pin,’ _ Tyrion thought to himself. 

Petyr looked him in the eye and said something that genuinely shocked Tyrion. 

“No. I know where they are. I want you to steal them back.”

Taken aback, and now intrigued, Tyrion got up from his chair at the bar, and walked slowly towards a more private leather booth in the corner, motioning towards Petyr to follow him. Once both were situated across from one another in the burgundy leather booth, Tyrion began to ask questions, the creaky gears in his head groaning to life. 

…

An hour, one missed flight, and approximately three glasses of wine later, the men were deep in discussion. 

“...And you’re sure Tarth stole your designs?”

Petyr shook his head at Tyrion’s words, almost as if he was fed up with this conversation. “Look, my engineer goes missing, he disappears with all my files and then one week later Tarth announces an identical project. Come on.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I don’t know. Stealing them back, it seems like a stupid risk, there are other ways…” he suggested, taking a deep swig of his wine. 

Petyr was almost shaking at this point, verging on aggression, Tyrion noted. ' _ Helpless and out of control.'  _

“Listen. Listen to me. At the end of this month I have a shareholder’s meeting, Mr. Lannister. I’ve spent, already, five years, 100 million crowns on R&D. If I go to that meeting with nothing to show for it? Then I am dead.”

Petyr turned to his side and opened the flap on his leather messenger bag. He searched for a moment and then pulled out a navy blue folder, hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he handed it to Tyrion. “I’m serious. Look, look at the people I’ve already hired. Do you recognize any of these names?”

Tyrion quickly perused the file. “Uh, yeah. He,” motioning to one of the pictures, “worked for my family for a bit, but that was years ago...Yeah, I’ve chased all of them at one time or anoth--” Tyrion’s entire body froze and his voice flattened out of disbelief and maybe a tiny bit of fear. “Arya? You have Arya?”

Baelish looked up from his mojito, confused. “There’s no one better, that’s what I’ve heard. Were my sources wrong?”

Tyrion sighed deeply, exhausted. “No, but Arya is insane. She’s been known to get..well…stabby,” Tyrion says, making a slight stabbing motion with his chubby hands. 

Petyr took as big a sip of his mojito as he could without grimacing, seemingly for courage. “Which is why I need you.”

Tyrion laughed.

“No, I’m not a criminal. I don’t work with thieves. I’m not a thief.” He closed the file and set it down gently on the table next to his wine glass.

Petyr simply smiled, took a sip of his drink, and made eye contact over his glass. “Thieves I got. What I need is one honest man to watch them. Now. Tell me. Are you in?”

Tyrion looked back down at the closed folder, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s not going to work. These people you hired--they all have the same rep. They work alone, they always work alone, there’s no exceptions and there’s no way they’re going to work for you. You’ve got one guy who stabs for a living, one who stabs for fun, and one the other two are going to want to stab immediately. It’s not going to happen.”

Petyr shook his head, with a knowing smile on his thin lips. “No, they will, they will. For 500,000 Crowns each, they will, and for you, for running it, it’s double that.

Tyrion listened as he reopened the folder, looking at each of the photos Petyr had supplied. One classically handsome man with dark hair and ocean-blue eyes, scowling at the camera. One tiny nightmare, eyes burning with instability and cunning. One monster of a man with long hair and a burn scar covering half of his face, though Tyrion knew from experience, the amount of muscle not being captured by the camera. The intel Peter had gotten was good. Useful. And all three were at the top of their game. But none had ever worked successfully as a team before. Was it possible they’d do it for the money? 

Petyr continued, “And it’s off the books, completely off the books. Look at me, I’m desperate here. And that’s just the salary, there is a bonus. Tarth is insured by Lannister Corp--

Tyrion snapped his head up at that. 

“It’s a 50 million Crown intellectual property rights policy. Mr. Lannister, how badly do you want to screw your family for what they did to your wife?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion as the alcoholic, troubled mastermind was just beyond obvious. I couldn't resist! 
> 
> In the show, Nate is an alcoholic ex-insurance fraud investigator. The company he used to work for refused to pay for his son's cancer treatment, and he ended up dying tragically. 
> 
> Petyr Baelish is just an innocent, small man from the Fingers....right?  
> (P.S. I felt very proud of myself for coming up with him drinking mojitos since he always smells of mint in the books.)


	2. "Age of the Geek"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion begins planning the heist and we meet the rest of the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm posting this today for two reasons. 1. I have the patience of an actual puppy, and 2. I realized that just chapter 1 isn't a good representative of the fic on the whole. If I were perusing AO3 and saw a Gendrya/Sansan fic that featured none of the above characters, I would be confused. So! here we are. 
> 
> This chapter really deviates from the show. I wanted to write the scene where they all met and planned, because the show kind of glosses over it.

Tyrion sat quietly in the darkened office, looking out onto the city skyline as he waited, his brain moving like a Rube Goldberg machine to plan and re-plan the events that were meant to take place over the next two days. Tonight was for planning, tomorrow was execution. Nerves wracked his body. He’d never played the other side before. With the unknown came a bone-deep sense of unease, one which was very new to him, even at his age. Tyrion closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he returned his thoughts to the view in front of him, trying to center himself. 

He had been lucky enough to find a space in an unfinished office building almost directly across from the Tarth Engineering building. While he was prepared to pay big in order to secure the space had it been in use, he was happy to not spend any extra cash. The Lannisters were famously extravagant in every way, but Tyrion believed only two things were worth spending big: alcohol and women. Or at least he used to. Before.

He’d arrived a few hours ago. He spent the first hour mapping out the space, and the second setting up the projector with which he would project the 3D blueprint of the Tarth building as well as any computer data the Waters kid would be able to get for him,which, based on what he’d been able to do the last time Tyrion chased him, was a lot. The plan was that he would stay out of the way here while the rest of the crew would be over in the Tarth building executing his plan, all while he would steer the way through the comms units he’d brought. Again and again, Tyrion ran through all the things that could go wrong, making up different plans if they happened. It soothed him, occupied his brain. Distracted him from his…’ _performance anxiety?_ ’ Tyrion thought to himself. _‘No. This is the same as before, just with a different group of people. I’m not stealing anything. Well...I’m stealing it back. It’s going to the rightful owner. Even if I do find Petyr obnoxious at best. And I get to stick it to my family. That’d be worth getting arrested for.’_

His only real worry now should be the added variables of the team. He wasn’t used to working with others, and certainly not criminals. They wouldn’t get along; of that he was certain. They might even be combative. Especially Arya. He would have to make plans for that, too. So, thus, the well-oiled cogs in his brain continued to churn again, changing direction, his eyes on the view, unseeing. 

About half an hour later, as he had gotten about halfway through the plan for if Arya stabbed someone and then ran off with the plans herself, laughing maniacally, he heard the sound of soft footsteps coming towards him. A massive shape was emerging from the darkness much closer to Tyrion than he would have liked. Tyrion, despite knowing he was most likely safe, felt a small tendril of fear snake its way down his body. The man was at least 6 ft 8. Probably more. His shoulders alone were wider than perhaps Tyrion was tall. As the shape came closer, and still quiet as the night, Tyrion was able to make out more of his facial features. He had long dark hair, tattoos running up and down both arms, and piercing silver eyes. Most remarkably, he had a massive burn scar running down the side of his face with, what Tyrion knew, was a partially missing ear. 

“Clegane.”

*****SANDOR CLEGANE. RETRIEVAL SPECIALIST.*****

“Imp,” Sandor replied, softly yet gruffly. His voice was like gravel. He was intimidating in his stillness. “I was told 6. It’s 6. Where the fuck is everyone else?” he said, as he set his bag down and took a seat on one of the empty desks. Tyrion wasn’t fond of that nickname, but he certainly wasn’t about to alienate _the_ Sandor Clegane. 

Sandor and Tyrion had met briefly, years ago, when Sandor did some contract work for the family. Tyrion had seen Clegane’s work, but, terrifyingly, knew he’d only seen the tip of the iceberg of what Clegane was capable. Clegane hadn’t changed much in those years. He had been a grumpy sod then, and it seemed like he was still one now. 

Tyrion looked down at his watch. It was 6:00 on the dot. He smirked to himself. 

“You know how children are, Clegane.”

Clegane responded with a definite grunt. _‘Yep,’_ Tyrion thought to himself, ‘ _still a grumpy sod.’_

They sat in a not-quite-companionable silence for about three more minutes until a large, but not as large as Sandor, man stomped into the room. He didn’t smile as he set down his large bag and started setting up his computer equipment, not looking up or making eye contact at either man until he was finished. 

*****GENDRY WATERS. INTERNET AND COMPUTER FRAUD. *****

“Gendry,” he finally said, as his greeting. Tyrion rolled his eyes and noticed Clegane doing the same. Gendry opened up his laptop and powered it up, plugging in a few small black devices into the side. It was only once the computer made a low beeping noise to signify it was starting that Gendry finally looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring at him; one set amused, the other derisive. “What?” he asked, alarmed. 

“Thanks for joining us. I’m Tyrion,” and gestured at the mountainous statue that had yet to say a word since complaining about the team’s lack of punctuality, “and this is Sandor.”

“Dude. I know who you guys are.” Gendry waved off their introductions. “ _You_ ,” he said, pointing at Tyrion, “Fucked up my acquisition of the original masters of the Star Wars trilogy.” 

Sandor made a small noise of confusion. 

“Bro. Han shot first. Fuck those guys for changing the originals. I just wanted to put _those_ into production for all future Bluray purchases.” 

Tyrion looked at Clegane. He looked utterly bored. 

With a slight eye roll, Tyrion continued, undaunted. “Yeah… so I have some comms ready to go, so I’ll have you work on those later. Once I get started with the rundown, I’ll need your help uncovering some data, things like that. Otherwise, we’re just waiting on one more,” Tyrion said, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room as Clegane continued to openly glare at the new addition. 

“Don’t wait on my account,” said a low female voice from the darkness. Gendry actually jumped, Tyrion turned around swiftly in the direction the voice came from, and Sandor’s eyes pivoted, but otherwise he was unmoved.

“What the fuck?!” Gendry started.

Tyrion cracked a slight smile. “Boys, meet Arya.”

*****ARYA STARK. SECURITY CIRCUM. INFILTRATION AND ALTER. THIEF. *****

Gendry’s eyes widened as a slight woman stalked out of the darkness. That was the only word for it: stalked. She moved like a cat, swiftly and smoothly, silently. Her voice was lower than he’d expect for a woman so small, barely clearing 5 ft. She was slim, but clearly strong, wearing all black, including her short nails. Her thick brown hair was up in a ponytail pulled tight against her scalp, but pieces fell against her face nonetheless. _‘Beautiful.’_ Not beautiful like a flower or a Botticelli. No. With her big, alert eyes, that rippled like Damascus, and her sharp cheekbones, she was a different kind of species all together. She was beautiful like a sword. She was controlled chaos; he could tell that already. He’d never seen anything like her. 

Arya perched on top of one of the empty desks, her comically small black converse dangling off the ground. 

“So. What’s the plan.” She said it like a statement, not a question. Gendry watched as her dark eyes surveyed her situation, but it was clear she had seen and heard everything that had gone on at least as long as he’d been there. 

“How long were you there? I’ve been here for hours,” Tyrion asked her.

“Long enough. I worry about your observation skills,” Arya said, blithely, examining her nails. 

Tyrion laughed. “Well, I’m not a criminal. I’d be worried about them,” he pointed in the direction of the two men in the room.

“I—I do computers,” Gendry stuttered out. _‘Real smooth, Gendry. Shit.’_

Sandor simply shrugged; arms still crossed.

Tyrion clapped his hands together. “Alright! Well, since we’re all here, shall we begin?”

...

The four sat loosely around a table set up in the center of the workspace, pizza boxes piled high. After four hours of working through the plan, they’d finally decided to call out for dinner. What started out as a simple dinner ended up costing a small fortune, since both Sandor and Gendry ate more than an entire large pizza by themselves, and, as Tyrion watched in horror, Arya wasn’t far behind. Tyrion had finished eating much earlier, stopping after three slices, so he continued on with the briefing. They couldn’t be too prepared. With a group of individuals such as these, there was too much room for error for Tyrion’s liking .

“Okay, so here are our comm units,” he said, holding up a small glass container containing several ear pieces. 

Gendry reached over with one hand, still holding a piece of pizza with the other, and picked up an earpiece, eyeing in skeptically.

He shook his head violently, or as violently as one could with cheeks bulging with cheese and dough. “Absolutely not. No. Hell no. I’ve spent years building my street cred. That,” he gestured at the offending box of Tyrion’s comms, “is not gonna happen. I’ve got something nicer.” 

He heard a quiet, low snicker from Arya in the corner. 

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Care to share with the class?

Gendry finished chewing and stretched his long limbs out of the chair, grunting as he got up. _‘I’m gonna have to spend an extra hour at the gym tomorrow,’_ he thought. On the desk he’d set up on, his small wooden box of comms sat underneath two of his harddrives. He retrieved it and walked back to the table, sneaking a look at Arya on his way. He was met with a piercing stare, (‘ _Grey, like a churning sea’_ he realized) _,_ quickly looking away.

Once back at the table, Gendry held up the thumb-nail long clear plastic tube for the rest to see, then handed one to Tyrion as he spoke. “It’s a bone-conduction earpiece mic, works off the vibrations in your jaw.” Gendry tossed one to a bored-looking Sandor, who immediately put it into his ear. Gendry held up a finger, and walked to the far corner of the workspace before whispering, “You can hear everything.” Then, he walked back to the table feeling a bit smug. “They’re also the most discreet on the market. Nobody’s gonna know you’re wearing one _even_ if they know where to look.” His eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across his face. 

Sandor, shrugged, mildly surprised. “You’re not as useless as you look.”

Gendry’s smile shrunk on his face. “Man, I don’t even know what you do.”

“Can I have one?” Gendry actually jumped in surprise, as Arya asked from directly behind him. _‘When did she get there?’_

“You can have the whole box,” Gendry said, without thinking and with, to his horror, a stupid grin on his face. He held the box of comms up to her, watching her small fingers, tipped with shiny black polish, retrieve her comms unit. Then, with an enigmatic smile, she turned and went back to her seat. 

“What are you going to do when she finds out you live with your mom?” Sandor asked, the corner of his unburnted mouth twitching minutely in amusement. 

Gendy sighed and scowled. “Man, my mom is dead.”

Sandor shrugged and looked like he could not have less remorse.

“Age of the geek, man. We run the world. ...And for the record, my foster parents live _with me,_ not the other way around. _”_

Sandor turned, apparently very over this conversation. “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” 

…

They finished up their pizzas, they worked for another few hours. After deciding there was nothing else they could plan for, and wanting to get back to his hotel so he could have one last drink before bed, Tyrion called it a night. Tomorrow, they would break into the high rise across the street and steal Petyr Baelish’s plans back for him. Tomorrow, Tyrion would cross the line from being a legal citizen to a criminal. Tomorrow, they would have to work as a team in order to get the plans, or worse, arrested. But he realized he wasn’t anxious anymore. 

The last thing Tyrion thought that night before going to his hotel, watching as Arya seemingly disappeared into thin air and Gendry texted without looking all the way to his car, and Clegane carried out the remains of the pizza for a “post midnight-workout snack,” (all four boxes) as he had grumbled out on as way of explanation on the way to his truck, was ‘ _this was kind of…fun.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor as Elliot: This was the first parallel I saw in the show, and I LOVE it. Elliot is a grumpy ex- special forces vet (we think), now a hitter (not an assassin, he clarified, but like...sure Elliot) and "retrieval specialist." He's got piercing light eyes, dark, luscious hair, and he's jaaaacked. Funnily enough, in the show, Christian Kane is maybe 5'10''? So slight difference there. There's an alternate universe where Arya is the hitter, and it works super well, but I just LOVED her as Parker, and I just couldn't resist the Elliot/Sandor pull. 
> 
> Gendry as Hardison: This one was the trickiest for me. They are the least alike in speech pattern and personality, as Hardison is pretty light-hearted and outgoing. That being said, I knew I wanted some Gendrya action, and I liked the parallel of an improbably muscular and good looking hacker. Alec Hardison grew up in the system and he has shown on the show to be a talented forger..forge...forger...get it? Yeah, I felt pretty proud of myself for that one. In the show, Hardison and Elliot clash a bunch, but it becomes more of a brotherly thing as the episodes go on. Also in the show, Hardison and Parker, Arya's character, develop a very sweet relationship, so I wanted to build on that. 
> 
> Arya as Parker: This one was pretty obvious to me. Parker's fierceness and physicality remind me of Arya quite a bit. Parker also grew up in the system, only to find herself in a car theft ring, then to be brought under the wing of a world-famous thief. She struggles with emotions and understanding other people. She is fearless when it comes to physical risks, like jumping off of buildings.


	3.  “That’s Twenty Pounds of Crazy in a Five Pound Bag”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's plan goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't planning on posting today, but I had a shitty day, so here I am. I figured I'd put some creative energy out into the universe rather than crying more about mean elderly women. I got a frozen lemonade from Panera and ate some Kinder Bueno bars, and I'm feeling a bit better now. 
> 
> From here on out, when text is bolded, that means the characters are hearing that dialogue through their comms, and I'll let you know who's saying it unless it's obvious. If that makes zero sense, let me know. I'm totally down to change it. 
> 
> A Sansa note: I just put the finishing touches on the chapter she appears in. Those of you waiting for her, I am sorry! She's gonna pop up in chapter 6! From there on out, she is a main player, so please be patient with me. 
> 
> Note the ratings bump. I was waffling between T and M before, but Gendry's thoughts get a bit saucy this chapter, so I think we'll stick with M for now. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you all so much for your kudos, subscriptions, and your comments. Actual happy tears have been shed because of your kindness. I truly appreciate you all!

“Okay. No surprises now.”

Tyrion looked out the darkened window to the building across the street. Knowing his team--no, the three criminals that had been contracted--was up there, ready to enter the secured facility and secure the files they needed in order to make a big paycheck. All they had to do was follow the plan. Tyrion rolled his eyes as a deep voice echoed into his ear.

**Gendry: "I’ve been doing this since high school, man, I’m Captain Discipline."**

As the cool wind whistled around the rooftop of the skyscraper he was currently perilously perched on, Gendry chose to not mention the time in high school when he stole Aegon Targaryen's identity and rented the penthouse of the nicest hotel in King’s Landing. He was caught just as the three hired women dressed as Queen Nymeria had started taking off each other’s costumes. He’d never gotten over the disappointment. 

Gendry snuck a look over at Arya, who was standing at the very edge of the building, beaming from ear to ear. Her deft fingers were pushing and pulling at various pieces of cording and buckles on a black harness which wrapped along her tiny body. _‘She looks hot as fuck like this. I bet she wears black lingerie... that kind with all the straps. Fuck.”_ Gendry thought as unbidden images of Arya sitting above him, her lithe body criss crossed in black satin and leather. 

Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, Arya looked up at him and winked. Gendry’s face and ears reddened, and he quickly looked away. He wasn’t that bad with women, really. He mostly stuck to himself because he just didn’t like people all that much--that’s part of what got him into computers in the first place. He’d dated here and there, and his appearance was enough to attract girls so he didn’t have to flirt or speak at all to them, but he’d never been bad with women. Something about Arya disarmed him. He’d never felt more off his game. _‘Is this what it feels like to be Hot Pie?”_ Gendry thought, thinking back to all the times his best friend embarrassed himself in front of even moderately attractive people. 

Gendry looked up from his phone again, his betraying eyes going straight to Arya. She was all buckled in now. He groaned internally as he saw her _actually_ caressing her harness as if they’d had many a pleasure-filled night together. _‘She’s gonna kill me. ‘I'm gonna die.’_

Arya broke the silence. “Last time I used this rig, Paris, 2017.” Her eyes were looking fondly, far off.

**Tyrion: “You talking about the Caravaggio? You stole that?”**

Arya only giggled in response. Of course she’d stolen that Carvaggio. And the Vermeer. And that pretty turquoise tiara. She’d worn that around her house for weeks. The color really brought out her eyes. She most certainly hadn’t worn it to look like a Princess. Never. Besides those couple times. That was her sister’s thing, not hers. 

“Is this thing safe?” A deep voice came from behind Arya. She turned to see Sandor pulling his earpiece out of his left--well, his only ear, looking at it skeptically. It looked comically tiny in his frankly monstrous hand, between two of his blunt, scarred fingers.

Arya saw Gendry clench his jaw nearly imperceptibly in response, and then his eyes lit up mischievously. She thought it was kind of cute how much he didn’t like Sandor. “Yeah, it’s completely safe, it’s just, you know, you might experience nausea, weakness in your left side, stroke, strokiness.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re precisely why I work alone.” 

Tyrion didn’t even try to hide his amused smirk alone in the darkness. Speaking to the team through his comms, Tyrion took a deep breath and began the heist.

“Guys listen up, we’re going to go on my count, not a second sooner. Arya, no freelancing.”

In his ear, Clegane responded. “ **Hey, relax, we know what we’re doing.** ”

**Arya: “I’m feeling unsupported here.”**

Tyrion ignored them. “And on the count of five!”

Back on the roof, Sandor was centering himself, listening to the count. 

**“Five. Four. Three-”**

**Sandor: “She’s gone”**

“Seven Hells!” Tyrion cried out in annoyance. Over his comms he could hear Arya squealing with delight. ‘ _This is why I work alone,’_ he thought to himself, and then took a deep swig of the wine that was in his hand. 

Sandor and Gendry ran over to the edge of the building to just catch Arya in the last bit of her fall down the building, a huge smile spread across her face. Gendry would have been lying to say he wasn’t in awe of this little nightmare, but he would go to the grave before he admitted how turned on he was by her fearlessness. Despite his lawless existence, that was one thing he’d never had the luxury of being, even as a child. Stubborn, angry, sullen? Yes. Fearless? Never. 

Sandor shook his head. “That’s twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag,” he rasped, as he turned without a second look and made his way towards the hatch they were meant to enter the building through. 

Arya’s harness slowed her just as she’d made it to the thirtieth floor window she’d scoped out the night before. Hanging upside down, she peered into the office window, scoping out the alarm system. “Vibration detectors are on.” 

Gendry took one last look at the tiny woman hovering gracefully hundreds of feet off the ground, and then followed Sandor to the hatch, both scrambling to grab their supplies, pushed off center slightly by Arya’s disruption. Matching each other’s long strides, Sandor threw open the hatch and they descended down the ladder into the building. 

Arya pulled out her cutting agent from the bag secured to her left thigh and placed it gently on the glass. Any extra movement would trigger the alarm and they would be caught. No payout for them. In the same movement, she pushed the suction cup up to the glass and pulled it away, letting it drop carelessly onto the ground. It would shatter below, leaving behind no evidence. 

“Gendry?”

**Gendry: “Alarm’s off. Go for it.”**

His deep voice sent tingles down her spine. 

Smiling, she tucked herself into the window, dropping onto the desk in a simple side aerial flip, landing gently and silently on her toes, before lowering herself to the floor. _‘Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Calm as still water.’_ She could practically hear Syrio critiquing her form in the silence of the darkened office. 

“I’m in, boys.” 

She left the office and turned right, moving down the hall to the room she knew would be marked as “Danger: High Voltage.” That was the room she needed to go into for the next stage of the plan. Reaching down into her thigh holster again, she pulled out her lock picking tools, her favorite pick and wrench. Working off of feel alone, it was only a matter of seconds before the lock _clicked_ and Arya was in.

Gendry and Sandor had found themselves on the top of the elevator inside the empty shaft. Their next move depended on Arya. Neither man wanted to converse with the other, which was a refreshing experience for Sandor. He’d only worked with others on occasion since leaving the service, and he fucking hated it when those annoying cunts would talk his ear off to fill the space. They had been standing there for about thirty seconds when Gendry glanced at the watch on his arm. Sandor hadn’t needed a watch in years. He found his internal clock was enough. Aware that time was ticking down, Sandor spoke over the comms. 

**Sandor: “You know Arya anytime you wan--”**

Arya rolled her eyes and crossed the two wires that were in her hands, causing the elevator to jerk downwards rapidly, smirking as she heard at least one of them grunt at the movement over her comms. 

“Shit!” Gendry bellowed as his stomach practically flew up into his throat. 

“Boys are on their way,” she said calmly over her comms to Tyrion. 

Tyrion: **“What are you getting with security? You see security?** ”

Arya checked the monitor with the security room displayed, able to see what _their_ monitors showed, and smiling. Men were standing around the desk watching their screens, nothing amiss. “They don’t see a thing.” 

The elevator came to a stop, Sandor and Gendry still on top. 

**Arya: “Doors open.”**

**Tyrion: “All right guys, show time. Here we go.”**

Sandor watched as the doors slid open, revealing another identical hallway. ‘ _The designers were fucking lazy,’_ Sandor thought as the two men turned down a smaller hallway, this one darker, clearly not meant for the general population. Sandor opened his pack and handed Gendry the small plastic device that looked a bit like a calculator with a wide plastic strip hanging off of the top. 

“Here.” 

Sandor had tuned the fucker out when he’d tried to explain yesterday what it was meant to do. Frankly, he couldn’t be bothered. ‘ _Let him do his job, and let me do mine.”_

“Got it,” Gendry replied, taking the device into his hands, then plugging it into the security key pad on the door. His thoughts were interrupted by Tyrion on the comms. 

**“Okay, you got any chatter on their frequencies?”**

Back in the electrical room, Arya narrowed her eyes imperceptibly. “No. Why?”

Tyrion walked over to his desk and put down his now-empty glass of wine in favor of his clipboard containing all his research on the Tarth building. Something in his gut was telling him something was up. 

“There’s eight listed on the duty roster, there’s only four at the guard post.”

**Arya: “I can’t even tell how many guys are in the room. How can you tell who’s who?”** ****

Feeling a bit smug about knowing something Arya clearly did not, Tyrion responded, “Haircuts Arya. Count the haircuts.”

Eyes widening, Arya whispered to herself, “I would have missed that.”

**Tyrion: "What?"**

“Nothing!”

Still in the hallway, waiting for the de-coding...whatever the fuck it was...machine to do it’s thing and open the door to the server room, the hairs on Sandors neck stood up. “Problem?” he said, over his comms to Tyrion. 

**Tyrion: “Uh, maybe. Run the cameras.”**

Gendry, admittedly ignorant of any issues that were arising, was carefully watching the display on his device. “Ten digit password. I salute you sir,” he said both impressed and slightly annoyed. Five would be easier. Ten will take time. That should be fine as long as they didn’t run into any issues. 

Arya rapidly scrolled through the camera feed, her grey eyes flicking back and forth looking for the missing guards, stopping as she finally found them, dread descending. “Got ‘em. They’re doing their walk-through an hour early, why the fuck…”

**Tyrion: “Because it’s the playoffs.”**

Looking to corroborate that, Arya zoomed in on a TV screen in the security room showing a baseball game playing as Tyrion continued. 

**Tyrion: “Yeah, game 5 of the playoffs. They’re doing their rounds an hour early so they can watch the playoffs.”**

There was silence in the comms, then, sounding like he’d come up with a plan, Tyrion continued, 

**“All right, where are they?”**

Arya checked the corner of the screen the guards had just appeared onto. “They’re at the stairwell.”

In his darkened workspace, Tyrion looked at the blueprint being projected onto the wall. 

“Okay, guys here’s what we gotta do. We gotta squelch ‘em. As soon as they know you’re there, they’re going to call for back up. Make sure that doesn’t happen. Arya, as soon as they figure out we’re here, blast them.”

Arya watched the renegade guards closely, searching for any sign of disruption. She watched her black and white screen as one guard saw the open door, silently shouting to his comrades. Then, grinning, she hit the requisite keys on her keyboard that sent an insufferably high-pitched sound across their radios. ‘ _No reinforcements for you, bitch.’_ She watched gleefully as the men in the security room yelled out and then, as one, turned down their radios. 

Sandor’s eyes and ears were peeled, waiting, knowing the moment was coming. Gendry was hunched over his little device, quietly sweet talking it to try to get it to work faster. 

**Tyrion: "Sandor, what I want you to do is clear the zone and use Gendry as bait."**

Hearing Tyrion, Sandor noded imperceptibly, taking off his jacket leaving him in just his tight black shirt and jeans, and walked away from Gendry without a word. The corners of his mouth twitching in amusement when he heard Gendry reacting to Tyrion’s order. 

**Gendry: “Bait? What? Fuck that!”**

Gendry continued to try to sweet talk his computer, with increasing urgency. “Come on baby, work for me baby, come on, baby.”

Three digits. 

Arya watched the action unfolding on the monitors, rapt. “Gendry, they’re almost there.”

Five digits. 

“Please, please, please, you fucker.” 

**Arya: “...Gendry!”**

Six digits.

“Come on baby, come on, just come on man.” Finally, deciding all was lost, with a shake of his head, Gendry dropped his hand, letting the computer dangle from the door, and picked up his bag. “Fucking forget it.”

He turned to leave, to hide in one of the offices nearby, when he heard a gun click behind him. 

Then another. And another. He slowly turned, arms raised, to see four guns pointed at his face. 

“Hold it right there,” the biggest, paunchest guard said, with a tiny hint of a wiggle of his wrist. 

Then. 

Knowing his best way out of this was to drop his bag and run (even though rowing had been his strong suit in school, he’d been okay at track), Gendry raised his hands further up, as high as they could go. Then, he slowly started to open the hand holding the leather and nylon bag, poised to run. 

Unhurriedly, almost as if he was walking down the aisles at a farmer’s market, not a care in the world, Sandor’s hulking frame came into Gendry’s eyeline, directly behind the guards, tattooed arms bulging and asymmetrical mouth smirking. 


	4. "That's What I Do"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finishes their first and last heist together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up from right after the last left off.

**Arya: “Gendry, they’re almost there. GENDRY!”**

Sandor waited, silently, in the darkened corner of the room. He could sense the tension in the tiny one’s voice and in the sullen one’s posture. But he wasn’t worried. 

He cracked his neck and shook out his arms, ready. 

Sandor watched as a group of four guards approached Gendry. By the way they held their guns, two were ex-Army, one was retired local police, and one had the stance of a college football star that had blown out his right knee...twice. Sandor broke into an easy smirk. No special forces. No recent training. 

“Hold it right there!” the bum-kneed ex football player... _Fullback_ , Sandor decided (he had a very distinctive stance) shouted at Gendry. Sandor could hear the fear in his voice. He’d probably never pulled his gun before, and he certainly had never shot anyone before. 

Sandor slowly, quietly stalked out from his position so he was behind the four guards. Four against one was a fucking unfair fight, but he wasn’t about to feel bad for them. They would learn a lesson tonight. _‘These rats are about to learn what it’s like to be chased off by a dog.’_

Gendry’s eyes got wide as he took Sandor in. ‘ _This cunt will learn a lesson tonight, too.’_

And then Sandor took a step forward. 

He kicked Army #1 in the Achilles and turned to Retired Cop before he even heard the first fucker fall to the ground in pain. Throwing a right hook into Retired Cop’s throat, he heard the cunt try to scream out in pain before he threw his elbow into his face, knocking him out. The two that were closest to Gendry had barely realized what was happening ‘ _Tonight they’re learning the importance of awareness of one’s surroundings’_ he almost clucked like a school teacher. It was almost embarrassing. 

Army #2 turned to face him just as Sandor’s massive fist connected with his nose, sending him flying back into the wall and a crimson cloud of blood spraying into the air. He was out as soon as his head collided with the wall behind him, leaving a massive dent, the sound of meat and bone slamming into drywall and metal echoing into the otherwise silent hallway. 

Army #1 was back up, just in time to get his shoulder dislocated and a right hook into his face. Down for the night. 

Only Football Star was left standing. Sandor almost wouldn’t enjoy this one, it was so pitiful. Almost. _‘They shouldn’t be hiring fucking unqualfied pieces of shit.’_

Football Star looked Sandor in the eyes and unconsciously shook his head a bit. Sandor sighed in annoyance and tossed him back against the chainlink fencing that ran along one side of the hall. He bounced back almost comically, straight into Sandor’s elbow. Out. 

Silence fell into the room just as the soft _thud_ of Gendry’s bag fell to the floor. 

Methodically, Sandor reached down to each man crumpled on the floor and disarmed them, removing the magazine and emptying the chamber. He fucking hated guns. 

Sandor turned to Gendry, smirk on his face. Gendry’s eyes were wide, jaw dropped. The entire fight had taken less than a minute. None of the men had been able to get a single shot off. 

“That’s what I do.” 

Gendry looked reasonably impressed. _‘Maybe he’ll shut the fuck up next time,’_ Sandor thought to himself. 

**Arya: “Holy shit.”**

Sandor heard Tyrion clear his throat in the silence. 

**Tyrion: “You guys good?”**

Gendry had not moved, but now, shakily, said “We’re...we’re fine,” in a much higher voice than he’d used before.

Sandor tried not to laugh, the burned corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably. 

Behind them, the men heard a soft _click_ as the computer finished decoding the password and the door opened. Sandor nodded at Gendry, signalling for him to go inside while Sandor tied up the guards. 

The server room glowed blue as Gendry made his way inside, a huge grin on his face. 

Gendry approached the main terminal. “Okay, I’m stripping the drives right now.” He plugged in the carbon fiber flash drive and waited for it to load. 

Sandor walked in to join him after a couple minutes. Silent as always. _‘Frankly, he’s creepy as fuck. No one that size should be THAT quiet.”_ The computer let out a little beep, disrupting his thoughts. 

“Got all the designs, got all the backups. I’m leaving this cupboard bare,” he said, pocketing the flash drive, plugging in a second, and moving to the cupboard filled with what had to have been terabytes or even petabytes of hard drives. 

**Tyrion: Drop the spike.**

“Yeah, I’m working on that now,” Gendry replied, eyeing the red flash drive in the computer. 

Sandor waited for him at the door, grunting out “Did you give them a virus?”

Gendry laughed. “Dude, I gave them _all_ the viruses.”

**Arya: “Problem. Those guards you ganked? They reset all the alarms on the roof and all the floors above us. We can’t go up.”**

Sandor and Gendry froze, then, seemingly coming to a conclusion, Sandor shrugged. “Every man for himself then.” He shouldered the bag and started to walk away. 

Gendry scoffed. “Go ahead. I’m the one with the merchandise.”

Sandor stopped.

Arya rolled her eyes, packing up her equipment. “Yeah, well I’m the one with an exit.”

Back in his darkened office, Tyrion wanted to pull out his hair. “And I’m the one with a plan. Now I know you children don’t play well with others but I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes. Now get to the elevator and head down. We’re going to the Burn scam.”

Sandor growled. “For the record, I find this one offensive.” 

**Tyrion: “...Well…Get over it.”**

Sandor snorted then shrugged. _‘The Imp has balls.’_

Sandor and Gendry looked at each other, and without another word, made their way to the elevator door. They stepped inside and immediately threw open their bags and started buttoning up the oxford shirts they’d brought along. Sandor tore off his beanie, and pulled an elastic off of his wrist (to Gendry’s amusement) to pull his long hair back. 

Gendry shook his head as he finished buttoning his shirt and searching for his tie. “Going to Plan B, then?”

**Tyrion: “Technically that would be Plan G.”**

Arya giggled quietly, running silently from her closet to the elevators, pushing the button, and waiting to run inside. She had the most time consuming transformation and was getting anxious to start. 

The elevator doors opened, and Arya knew she was a tiny blur as she flew into it. Without any shame, Arya ripped off her shirt and began to change. ‘ _Shirt, skirt, shoes, makeup, pull down hair…’ she repeated the list over and over in her head_. 

She felt her cheeks warm up as she realized she’d just flashed Gendry and Sandor, but there wasn’t time for modesty. She never wore bras (because if you’re an A cup, why bother with the nonsense), which clearly surprised both Gendry and Sandor, though Sandor only showed his surprise in a tiny twitch of the corner of his mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw both men turn away, Gendry clearly out of embarrassment and Sandor out of annoyance with a roll of his eyes.

Arya was maybe, possibly, just a tiny bit sad Gendry wasn’t watching. But now wasn’t the time. They all needed to focus on getting out of there alive and un…arrested. 

As she was changing and putting on their disguise, and Sandor was deftly tying a tie in a full Windsor knot, the tie looking humorously small on his massive frame. Gendry put on some fake glasses and constructed a cane from its collapsible form. 

Over the comms, he asked “How many plans do we have? Is there like a Plan M?”

**Tyrion: “Yeah, Gendry dies in Plan M.”**

Sandor smiled deviously at that. “I like Plan M.”

Gendry looked appalled, but both Arya and Sandor cracked grins in amusement.

In the lobby, the elevator dinged, signaling its impending arrival. A bored-looking security guard looked up in alarm. He struggled to get up out of his chair, eyeing the baseball game mournfully, and walked towards them, thinking ‘ _I could have sworn I locked those down.’_

In the mere moments before the doors opened, Sandor finished putting on Arya’s leg brace while Gendry applied fake burns to her face. He tried to focus on his task, not at her big eyes. ‘ _This is NOT the time.’_ He wasn’t sure which part of him he was talking to. _.’_ “Stay still. Don’t move. The spirit gum needs to set or your burns are going to fall off.”

“You know, it would have been easier to use me. Mine don’t fall off,” Sandor grunted out to no one in particular. 

**“But it’d be a hell of a lot harder for you to look helpless,”** Tyrion added, and Sandor did have to agree there. 

The security guard arrived at the elevator, hand on his gun, just in time for the doors to open, unaware of the chaos that had been contained just moments prior.

The team emerged, dressed in business suits. Arya walking with her cane, being half-carried by Gendry with Sandor taking the rear. Arya’s strong hands gripping Gendry’s surprisingly solid arm as she put most of her weight into it, her black nails shining in the light of the lobby. 

They were greeted by a slack-jawed security guard, who jumped as Sandor barked out “NICE! Why don’t you stare a little more?!” 

“Sorry!”

Sandor practically yelled, “You gotta be kidding me!”

Trying desperately to stifle her laughter, she whimpered out “No Tom, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Gendry, glaring at the innocent security guard, growled. She could feel the rumble in his chest as she leaned on him.

The guard looked positively horrified. “Sorry, sorry!” And he turned away, deeply embarrassed. 

Tapping into her sister’s spirit, Arya let out some fake tears. “ I understand,” she said, making sure her voice cracked. 

The guard called one last “I’m sorry!” as they passed, turning their backs to him. 

With the security guard suitably embarrassed, the three of them left the building, Arya still clinging to Gendry, despite her crutch. Sandor had placed his huge hand on her back. She could feel it spanning the entire way from one side of her ribcage to the other. 

As they closed the glass doors, a black sedan pulled up to the building.

“Get the door, come on,” Sandor said, as Gendry opened the front door for Arya. Once in, she threw her cane into the back seat. Gendry sat behind her easily, but with the extra height and mass, it took Sandor a couple minutes of contortion work to get in, even behind the tiny Tyrion. 

“I guess it’s good I didn’t spring for the coupe?” Tyrion laughed. 

“I’m never fucking riding with you cunts ever again.” 

...

Tyrion drove them to a local park. It was dark and deserted, but there was a big enough table for Gendry to work on his laptop and a big enough bench for Sandor to sit.

Tyrion had begun to feel cold, getting antsy about being with this group of people for any longer than he needed to. Antsy to get his money. “Come on, come on, it’s only taking all night. Come on.”

Gendry rolled his eyes. “I got a couple of Wi-Fi networks with some crappy bandwidth. Almost done.”

He hit a few more keys, and the loading screen finished.

“There you go. The designs are sent.”

Tyrion sighed in relief. “All right, all right. The money will be in all your accounts later today.”

Gendry smiled. “Anybody else notice how hard we rocked last night?”

Sandor shrugged, ready to leave. “Yeah, well, one show only, no encores.”

“I already forgot your names,” Arya replied, not making any eye contact. “But it was kind of cool, being on the same side instead of you failing to catch me,” turning to Tyrion.

Tyrion put his hand up to his chest, affronted. “No, we are not on the same side. I am not a thief.”

Sandor looked at Tyrion. “Well, you are now.”

Arya smiled. “Come on Tyrion, tell the truth. Didn’t you have a little bit of fun playing the Black King instead of the White Knight, just this once?”

Tyrion shook his head. Gendry put his laptop in his bag and stood up. For a brief moment, the team looked at one other, knowing this would likely be the last time they saw each other. Certainly the last time they would ever work together. 

The moment finished, and all four went their separate ways without another word, each figure disappearing into the darkness of the early morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest plot point to wrap my head around was the "Burn Scam." The way it is in the story is how it was in the show, except Elliot wasn't burned as a child. I couldn't decide if it should be Sandor with with crutch (but like they say, who would believe Sandor to be helpless?) or even calling it the Greyscale scam. I'm still not sure about it, to be honest. That being said, I think it works? IDK. I think this version of Sandor would be a lot less sensitive about his burns (he has lived a full life not being mentally and emotionally abused by his family and by society, he is still quite popular with women etc.) and therefore might joke about being offended, but not truly caring.


	5. "What The Fuck's A Sansa?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is in for a big surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are familiar with the show, you'll notice I cut the hospital scene. Why? 1. Because the first time I saw the show, it was the shortened version without that scene, and I always preferred the flow of the episode better without it. 2. Because I truly didn't want to write it. So...there ya go. The scene is quite funny in the context of the show, but I didn't think it would add a whole lot to my plot, plus, I knew it would likely add another chapter to the fic, and I'm sure many of you are getting antsy for some gingery goodness (I know I am).

A shrill beeping woke Tyrion from his wine-induced, deep, dreamless sleep. He cracked his eyes open and felt a pool of drool falling from his chin down to his damp pillow. Sweat was pouring from his head, and his mouth tasted like what he imagined the actual Stranger to taste like. After a moment of blinking blearily into the darkness, Tyrion realized the beeping was coming from his cell phone. He knocked over several small empty bottles on his side table in his mission to silence it. He realized it was not an alarm, but a ring, so he swiped his thumb across to answer with one hand while the other tried to wipe the sleep and hangover from his face.

“Yeah,” he croaked out. 

Petyr’s incensed voice yelped over the phone. “You screwed me!” Tyrion could hear his labored breathing. “The designs never got to me!” He almost sounded like he was crying. 

Jaw dropping, Tyrion couldn't believe what he was hearing. This had to be a joke. 

“No, I watched them go out.”

“I don’t know what you saw but I received nothing!”

It was much too early to deal with this. “Look, I told you, you couldn’t trust ‘em,” Tyrion muttered, but he knew that Petyr wouldn't accept that. Hell,  _ he  _ wouldn’t accept that. His gut twisted ever so slightly at the betrayal from the three criminals. The tiniest voice echoed from the depths of his mind ‘ _ I actually liked them.’  _ Tyrion shook his head to clear that thought, but regretted it as soon as the pounding came back. 

Petyr was too far gone to reason with. He continued to shriek into the phone, breathing heavy, “It is not my job to trust anybody- that is what you were here for. I am freezing the payments. I am freezing all the payments,” he said, with a desperation and a finality in his voice. 

“All right, look. Look, I will come over there right now, we’ll straighten this out. There has to be a simple explanation,” Tyrion responded, calmly, despite the pounding that was going on in his head. 

Over the phone, Tyrion heard Petyr respond by taking a deep, shaking breath. “No, no, no do not come here. My company has an old aircraft facility outside the city and I will text you the address and you be there in one hour.”

Petyr didn’t say good-bye as they hung up the phone, this being no time for niceties. He took as long of a shower as he felt prudent, then put on some clean clothes. Before leaving the hotel, he stopped by reception to get a mediocre drip coffee. Taste doesn't matter when you add some whiskey from the minibar. He sighed deeply as he started his car.  _ ‘Time to sort this shit out.’ _

_ In his office, Petyr Baelish finished up his frantic call. He hung up his phone, corrected his breathing to normal, and put it  _ _ gently  _ _ in his suit pocket. Then, he calmly sipped his coffee out of his vintage china mug, smug grin on his face.  _

…

When Tyrion arrived at Petyr’s secondary location, he was greeted with loud voices. He could tell they belonged to last night’s associates. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could sense the agitation. He rounded the corner to see a shaking Gendry holding a gun ‘ _ sideways’,  _ Tyrion grimaced,  __ at a calm Sandor _.  _ Tyrion shook his head.

“You mind telling me what happened to the designs?” Gendry continued to bellow. 

“What makes you think I know what happened? Stupid cunt,” Sandor rasped out, still unmoving. 

“Look, screw you man. You did it when we were coming down from the elevator.”

“Yeah, that makes sense doesn’t it? You had the file every second. One push of a button on your stupid fucking laptop and they’d be all yours.”

Gendry shook his head, “Hold up Kujo, I did my part, I transferred the files. You all saw me do it.”

Tyrion flinched involuntarily. Dog puns were never a good choice with--

“You better get that gun out of my face…” Sandor growled, “…or else I’m gonna feed it to you.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched as he remembered the last time he made that promise. Prague, 2016. It was not an idle threat, as the Hedge Knight had discovered. 

Tyrion had heard enough. “Hey!” he yelled out into the echoing space. Both men’s heads turned, Gendry’s quicker than Sandor’s methodical movement. Clearly, Sandor had already known he was there.

Sandor looked Tyrion in the eyes, his silver eyes burning. “Did you do it? You’re the only one that’s ever played both sides.”

“Yeah, you seem pretty relaxed for a guy with a gun pointed at him.”

Sandor set his steely glare on Gendry. “Safety’s on,” he said, simply.

Gendry rolled his eyes. “Like I’m gonna fall for that.”

“No, no, actually he’s right, the safety is on,” Tyrion added.

Questioning the safety, Gendry pulled his wrist up to check, which gave Sandor the chance to seize the pistol and quickly disarm it, flinging the bullet out of the chamber and into the air, and then throwing it to the side. 

Tyrion snorted at Gendry’s horror struck face, then turned to Sandor. “You armed?”

Sandor shook his head. “I don’t like guns.” 

Sandor looked pointedly past Tyrion’s shoulder. Curious, Tyrion turned to see Arya, sporting a long holey sweater featuring a grey wolf, holding a long, thin sword to his neck. 

“My money’s not in my account. That makes me cry inside in my special, angry place.”

Tyrion breathed deeply. “Okay, Arya,” he began in the calmest voice he could manage, slowly reaching down to her small hand to lower the sword. “Now did you come here to get paid?”

Gendry scoffed, not taking his eyes off the bare skin showing through Arya’s black striped tights. “Hell no. Transfer of funds man. Global economy.”

“It’s supposed to be a walk away. I’m never supposed to see you again,” Sandor said. 

The wheels started to turn in Tyrion’s mind, though too slowly for his liking. “Then the only reason you guys are here is because you didn’t get paid..and you’re pissed off.” He couldn't stop the hysterical laughter from bubbling out. “As a matter of fact the only way to get us all in the same place at the same time is to tell us that we’re not..” His mind caught up, his face paling. “...getting...paid.”

All four looked at one another, a realization nearly palpable coursing through them. Then, suddenly, they dropped into a full out run towards the garage door. Tyrion ran as fast as he could, but he stumbled a few yards back. He felt a hand grab him roughly from behind, pulling him up and over a monstrous shoulder, giving him a clear look at the flames as they started to erupt from the depths of the warehouse. “FUCK!!!!!” Sandor yelled, barely making it to a safe distance outside when the entire building erupted with a massive  _ BOOM _ and Tyrion felt the vibrations from the explosives in his bones. He looked around as pieces of wood and glass rained down upon them. Arya was knelt down on the ground, Gendry keeled over, hands on his knees. The explosion had thrown them all to the ground, including Sandor who had been carrying Tyrion. As soon as he could stand, Sandor ran off a hundred yards, his back to the group. Tyrion could hear him retching. It was no wonder. 

Arya was the first to speak. 

“What the FUCK was that?” 

Tyrion shook his head. “I believe Petyr Baelish sends his regards.”

Tyrion heard footsteps on glass behind him. The hulking shadow of Sandor Clegane crossed his eyes. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

There was a silent agreement amongst all of them in that moment. Tyrion looked in their eyes. From the bewilderment in Gendry’s bright blue eyes, to the annoyance in Arya’s, to the pure, unadulterated rage simmering in Sandor’s. They  _ could  _ all part ways. It would be safer. The chances of any one of them setting off Baelish’s radar were slim, though based on Sandor’s current mood, the chances of Tyrion hearing news of Baelish’s death tomorrow would not have shocked him. But that wasn’t enough. 

Tyrion nodded once, decision made. “Clegane’s right. Who has a safehouse closest to here?” 

Gendry raised his hand. “It’s about five miles north of here.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

…

Gendry’s loft was nicer than what Arya had expected. She’d arrived first, giving her time to head to his bathroom to wipe off the ash that was smeared on her face. She saw, with a note of surprise, that the soap and towels he used were nice. She’d expected holes and fake evergreen fragrance, (which, being from the north, she couldn’t stand), not plush Turkish bath sheets ( _ he was  _ quite _ tall _ , she thought) and French-milled milk soap. She finished washing her face and left the bathroom to survey her surroundings. Gendry’s loft was a big open room. Two of the walls were brick, with the entire back wall made out of windows. The fourth wall was covered in a blown up black and white print of an old comic book page. There was a massive screen mounted on one of the brick walls, and under it, six or seven computer towers, glowing yellow. They looked custom built, unsurprisingly, and more than likely by Gendry himself. His kitchen was clean and minimalist, with shiny black cabinets and white marble countertops. Above the island was a rough-hewn wood beam, which spanned the length of the long kitchen island, and around it edison bulbs were wound. Curious, she approached his fridge and pulled open the stainless steel door. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. 

Bottles of orange soda. That’s it. Just dozens of bottles of orange soda. 

“Okaay…” she said to no one in particular, slightly weirded out, though she’d definitely seen worse in houses she’d broken into. She closed the fridge to look at the few pieces of paper stuck to the door with utilitarian magnets. One menu for The Direwolf Deli, one picture of a sweet-looking older couple and half a dozen kids of various ages, and a local chinese restaurant. The picture made her smile. Everyone looked so happy in it. 

Continuing her inspection, she turned around, her eyes going straight to the monstrous bed in the corner. It was at least a California King size, maybe bigger. His bed was made with soft-looking grey linens, a chunky throw messily laid on top. The headboard and footboard were made up of black and white X shapes radiating outwards from the center. As Arya approached it, she realized it was made from reclaimed wood and looked hand made. She ran her fingers across it, through the grooves of the wood and onto the nubbly texture of the throw, the smooth fabric of the duvet cover. Exhaustion of the day set in and she decided to take a moment to lay down, noting how nicely the pillow smelled before falling asleep in moments. 

Gendry had driven with Sandor and Tyrion in Sandor’s Challenger since parking was at a premium around his loft. In the silence of the ride, a stipulation of Sandor’s, Gendry found his mind wandering back to Arya. Arya and her big eyes and sheer tights and her strong, lean thighs. A shiver wound down his spine at the thought. They pulled up shortly after, Sandor expertly parallel parking his car, seemingly without looking. 

“I’m gonna beat Baelish so bad that even the people who look like him are gonna bleed,” Sandor rasped out as Gendry unlocked his door and punched in the ten-digit code.

“It’s not--” Gendry started, cutting himself off in surprise to see the small sleeping form on his bed. She looked  _ good  _ on his bed. ‘ _ How the hell did she get in here?’  _ Gendry thought, with a small chuckle. “Uh...who’s gonna wake her up?”

Tyrion eyed her cautiously. “Who knows what she’s like when she gets woken up…” He rubbed at his neck, remembering the feeling of cold steel cutting into his skin. “Clegane?” he said, looking up to his hulking mass. 

Sandor shrugged and wandered over, grunting out something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “chicken shit,” which Gendry pointedly ignored. “Hey,” he said, touching her shoulder with a surprising gentleness. Arya’s eyes popped open instantly, her head popping up, alert. 

“Hey, guys. What did I miss?,” she asked, casually getting off the bed to go sit on the big U-shaped charcoal grey couch. 

“Sandor’s gonna kill Baelish,” Gendry supplied, sitting down across from Arya, grabbing his mobile keyboard and powering on the monitor with his phone. 

She snorted. “You won’t get within 100 yards. He knows your face. He knows all our faces.” 

Sandor growled. “He tried to kill us.”

“More importantly he didn’t pay us,” said Arya. 

Sandor gritted his teeth, eyes bugging out. “How is that more important?” he nearly shouted, incredulous. 

Arya straightened her back and lifted her chin, a hurt look passing across her face. “I take that personally.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Sandor said, his head shaking. 

Gendry was typing away. “Heads up, heads up look. Baelish’s story is 90 percent true. He is the head of Fingers Aerospace--big rival to Tarth, but...check out what my little web crawlers coughed up.”

He pulled up a video featuring the CEO of Tarth Aviation, Brienne Tarth at a press conference. “We’ve lost research that we’ve been working on for over five years. Our servers have been sabotaged, now we’re going to pursue these perpetrators to the full extent of the law and with all the resources we have at our disposal.” She squared her shoulders and looked directly at the camera as the video ended, pausing on her honest blue eyes. 

Tyrion nodded from his seat on the couch. “Could be a cover story.”

Gendry shook his head as he continued to type. “Here’s a log of last night’s rip. Internal timestamps on the project – 2015, 2016, they’re way, way down in the code. There’s no reason to fake those man.”

Sandor shifted his weight, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the kitchen island. “So we didn’t steal the plans back?”

“No,” Arya said, “We were just stealing them.”

“What I don’t get, though,” Gendry said, “Is why would Baelish lie to us?”

Tyrion thought for a moment. “Cause you’re thieves. If he hired you for a straight up crime, you’d know he was a bad guy like you, you’d be suspicious. You would ask questions and it would be harder for him to get rid of you. This way you just saw another citizen in over his head and that’s why you didn’t see the double cross coming.”

Arya tilted her head to the side. “Why didn’t you see it coming?”

Tyrion smiled. “Because I’m not a thief.”

Sandor had had enough of the Imp’s smug tone. “You know what, maybe that was the problem. If you-”

“You’re running,” Tyrion said, cutting him off. He had turned to the picture of Petyr Baelish being displayed on the monitor. “You’re running. Now that was a high-risk play. You got your balls tied to the stock price like a cinder block, shareholder meeting coming up. We can’t let this guy have any time to cool down.”

Sandor walked toward the couch. “So you want to run a game on this guy?”

“Yeah. I mean, how do you think I got most of my stolen merchandise back? I mean, this guy he’s greedy, he thinks he’s smart, he’s the best kind of mark.”

Arya smirked. “He does think he got rid of us…”

Gendry nodded. “Element of surprise…”

“What’s in it for me?” Sandor asked.

“Payback, and if it goes right, a lot of money.”

“What’s in it for me?” Arya asked.

“A lot of money, and if it goes right, payback,” Tyrion smiled. “Gendry?”

Gendry chuckled. “Well, I was just gonna send a thousand porno magazines to his office, but, hell yeah man, let’s fuck up his day.”

Sandor wandered over to the couch, looking directly into Tyrion’s eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Tyrion looked back, unflinching. His voice came out colder than it had before. “He used my wife.” 

The other three exchanged a sober look. Sandor grunted in understanding. He’d killed people, and still, there was a code. There were things you just didn’t do. No children, no elderly, no animals, and never, ever, loved ones. What Baelish did was fucked, and now he had to pay. 

“So what do we need?” Gendry asked. 

Tyrion thought for a moment, looking deeply into Baelish's eyes through the screen. The loft was silent for what felt like hours. “We need a grifter.” 

A slow grin stretched out on Arya’s face. “All right. Let’s go get Sansa.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows shot up for just a moment in shock, but then lowered as Arya’s grin got even bigger, her eyes lighting up. “Trust me?” 

Tyrion nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll drive.” Tyrion got up from his spot on the couch and walked out the door. Arya followed, with Gendry following after he powered down his equipment. 

Sandor stayed put. Confused, he looked around the empty room. 

“What the fuck's a Sansa?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original final line is "What the hell's a Sophie?" but, come on. Sandor would say "fuck" and we all know it. 
> 
> In the show's commentary, the writers agreed to try to never show Parker (Arya) entering or leaving a room. She simply appeared there. This is my version of that. 
> 
> Side note: I really want to make picsets for my chapters, but I am apparently computer illiterate. Send help? Which programs do you all use?


	6. "I Wouldn't Miss This"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's got a secret weapon up her sleeve, and the team gets to see her in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sansa tiiiiiimmme!
> 
> I'm gonna be honest. I'm not completely happy with this chapter. It was originally going to be much longer, but I thought a 15 page chapter was a bit much when the others clock in at about 6 each. 
> 
> This is one chapter that is quite a bit different from the show. I may go back and tweak, but I just don't know if I'm happy with the dialogue. Yesterday was the second anniversary of my mom's passing, and I hadn't really had the time to sit and dwell on it, but guess who had a giant chunk of alone time tonight? So, as you can imagine, I've been a bit of a mess tonight. 
> 
> I just hope you all enjoy this chapter. I have a few scenes in mind that I want to add going forward and I'm so excited for that. Again, thank you all for your support and kind words. They really do mean the world.

Sandor outright refused, in a characteristic fit of vulgarities, to be in a vehicle with the three of them, let alone for the hour and a half it would take to get to where Arya demanded they go. Instead, he got the address from her and plugged it in his phone, and sped off, stopping by his airbnb to shower to get some of the sweat and ash off. Since Tyrion had wanted to do the same, he knew they’d arrive at around the same time. After his shower, he quickly changed into some clean clothes, throwing on a black henley, layering a yellow flannel on top, and his black boots, and was off. He wasn’t as familiar with the region as Arya, but once he was able to merge on the freeway, which was a cold, hard bitch due to the amount of one-way streets in the city, it was a straight shot to the...theater? 

When he pulled up to the theater, he hummed gently, impressed. It looked like an old converted sept. Maybe from the turn of the century, when buildings were built right. Tyrion’s car drove up just as Sandor was getting out of the Challenger. He noted that Arya was seated behind Tyrion, and Tyrion looked just peeved as fuck with that situation. 

_“Little Wolf Bitch must have sat behind Tyrion so she could kick his seat,’_ he thought, and with a chuckle, he heard Tyrion complaining about her doing just that. 

Arya led the way with authority into the theater. As they walked into the darkened room, Sandor noticed a red poster displaying a crude charcoal drawing of a hand, with the words “The Bloody Hand” scribbled on the top. Presumably, that was the name of the play they were apparently about to see, but that meant nothing to him. 

He heard her before he saw her, a woman shrieking across the stage, throwing her arms in all directions. He knew jack shit about theatre, but even he knew this is garbage. Sandor turned to look at his colleagues. Tyrion was grimacing, Gendry’s jaw was dropped, but Arya was grinning like the fucking lunatic she clearly was. It was bad, and he knew bad. He’d had his face nearly burned off as a child and he’d been tortured by nearly every foreign government in the last twenty years. This was...worse. 

But _FUCK_ was she beautiful. The actress was tall and slim, her medieval dress highlighting her hips and slim waist. Her crimson hair was braided down to almost her waist. Her eyes, though, were what made him pause. The brightest ice blue eyes he’d ever seen were upon her face. 

He couldn’t look away if he wanted to, which he didn’t. 

His thoughts were torn away from the worst actress in the world by the nerdy cunt’s voice. 

“Wow. She’s shit” he whispered, almost awe-struck. 

Arya was still grinning, and didn’t stop when she leaned over to punch Gendry in the arm. Hard. 

“OW!”

A few of the other attendees turned and shushed them, but Tyrion and Sandor remained silent for the duration of their interaction. _‘Fucking children.’_

Mercifully, the torture ended, and as the house lights came back on, Arya cracked her neck and said “Okay, let’s go,” pointing out the exterior door for the men to leave through. “Wait out there. We’ll be out in a minute,” and then she seemed to evaporate into thin air.

…

“So...that was…” Gendry started. 

“That was Sansa Stark. Arya’s older sister,” Tyrion replied, with a far away look in his eyes.

“And you know her, then?” 

Sandor remained silent during their conversation, his mind swimming with images of _her._

“She dated my nephew for a while.”

Sandor knew the cunt he was talking about. His stomach tensed, his fists clenched. He’d only worked for the Lannisters for a few months, their compensation causing him to ignore his moral compass for some time, but he couldn’t ignore it for long. The worst things he’d done in his life, he did under their orders. Joffrey _fucking_ Lannister. He’d been given his mother’s name after his father found out he’d been a product of an affair (this, and the rumors of incest in the family, he’d heard from the other employees of the family. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore all of them). The blond cunt was the worst of them. If she’d dated him, she’d suffered unimaginable pain. In fact, it was a wonder she’d survived at all. Joffrey had a certain proclivity for hurting women. Sandor had stormed out after he’d been asked to clean up the latest sex worker’s corpse, a crossbow’s bolt buried deeply in her. He thought again of the girl, _Sansa_ ’ _s_ innocent bright blue eyes, bile rising in his throat. 

It was a few weeks later he’d heard of Joffrey’s death. Some said it was a drug overdose, others said it was poison. Sandor wasn’t so sure. Not that he gave a fuck. One less psycho around. 

Tyrion continued on. 

“I only knew her in passing...charity events, family holidays, things like that. Got her once for a secret santa. It wasn’t until _after_ she’d left that I had any idea that she’d been in trouble. I was never really around at that point. If I had known…” he trailed off. “That was years ago, though. She wasn’t—she was just a kid then. Barely out of high school. She was sweet, though. Very polite, always remembered peoples names, even those my family turned their noses at, like the help and--" he stopped, taking a breath. "Always looked and acted perfectly. I guess she was an actress even then. I've always regretted not being able to step in and help.” He wiped his hand down his face, looking older and more tired than he had in the few days that they had been working together.

Feigning boredom, Sandor asked “That’s all well and good, but why are we here?”

“Baelish knows us and we need a fresh face. My sister is the best grifter this side of Westeros,” Arya’s voice carried from across the alley. 

Gendry’s eyes widened at that. “Look, I’m sure she’s a great girl, but no. No. I vote no. She’ll get us all killed. For real this time” 

“Sansa should be out in a second. Here’s the deal. She’s a terrible fucking actress. Just the absolute worst, but I’m gonna need you all to trust me.” Something in her tone made Sandor nod soberly. For some reason, he felt like he should trust her.

“Now, she’s about to come out here. I’m gonna warn you lot once: be a dick to my sister, and I’ll have to use Needle on you.” All three men’s eyes widened by both her tone and by her menacing patting of the small sword on her right thigh. 

She looked pointedly at Sandor.

“What?” he asked, offended. Arya pointed a finger at him and shook her head menacingly in response. 

“Okay, Arya, so where’s this team you were—” Sandor looked up from Arya just in time to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking right at him, widened in shock. “Oh!” His heart sank. As quickly as he’d made eye contact, he looked away. 

When she saw Tyrion, she smiled warmly. What Sandor wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that. 

She had changed and scrubbed off her makeup, cheeks red and skin glowing like alabaster. If he’d thought she was beautiful before, he had no words now. Well, he had one. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered. 

...

Sansa was still feeling a bit of trepidation about Arya’s proposal. She’d gone straight two years ago. She just wanted to be an actress and costume designer. She’d righted the wrongs she’d suffered as best she could and just wanted to live in peace at home surrounded by what was left of her friends and family. She almost said no, until Arya mentioned that this Baelish fellow had tried to kill her. Sansa nearly growled at that. Nobody messed with her family. 

And so, here she was. About to meet the team that she’d agreed to help _just this once_ . Arya had given her a quick rundown of who to expect. She was surprised to hear about Tyrion, but she held no animosity towards him. He’d always shown her kindness. She withheld her giggles when Arya turned a bit red when describing the hacker she was working with. _‘Interesting,’_ she thought. She didn’t know this Sandor Clegane, but Arya seemed to respect him, which made him okay in her book. 

After she removed her thick, cake-like stage makeup, she threw on some rosehip oil and a coat of mascara. She had some tinted balm in her purse, which she’d grab on her way out. After her years playing the role of the perfect arm candy, she’d eschewed makeup as often as she could. 

She tried to listen to Arya as best she could as she peeled off her costume and threw it in the zipper compartment of her duffel bag. It was the end of The Bloody Hand’s run, so she'd take it home to wash it and then put it back into her costume closet for later. She’d have to shower later, so she ran a pre-moistened towelette over her body before throwing on the clothes she’d worn there. She sighed happily as she pulled on the cosy ivory sweater and the matching silky skirt. She’d worn nude-colored high heeled strappy sandals so she’d look polished to meet the public beforehand, hoping to network a bit, but she’d wished she brought flats to wear. Her feet ached from the hours standing on stage. 

She pulled out her water bottle and took a deep swig as Arya continued. “...and then he took out like five guards in like a minute. It was intense. All I'm saying is that we’re not amateurs. This is actually a pretty good team. Wouldn’t it be great to work with someone who was _competent for a change?”_ She said the last part with clear emphasis as she looked straight at Sansa’s director. She did have a good point. She didn’t have much of an ego, but she _did_ believe in her acting ability. She was tired of being directed by people who didn’t understand her talent. It might have swayed her if she hadn’t already decided to help. 

“...and I know you’ve retired, but this guy is the worst. You should’ve seen—”

“Arya!” Sansa nearly shouted to stop her sister’s ramblings. Arya’s mouth shut at once and her eyes widened, almost comically. “I’ll do it. Nobody hurts my sister and gets away with it.” 

A loving expression spread across the tiny thief’s face. 

“Why don’t you go outside. I need to say my goodbyes, and then I’ll meet you out there. Okay?”

Arya nodded, kissed Sansa on the cheek, and bounced off. 

Sansa had her reservations about what she was about to do. She really only did _that stuff_ to get justice for the abuses those in power had perpetrated against her and others like her, and also to keep the rest of her family in a financially secure place. Some would call her a con-woman, but she thought of herself as an actress with a higher purpose. She couldn’t stop people from suffering like she had, but she could stop abusers for doing it again. After Joff and Ramsay, she knew she had to do something. To use the powers she’d developed to help others, but after years of doing that and eventually establishing a nonprofit to help survivors, she went into retirement. Being around evil men was taxing and it got harder and harder for her to remove her personas with every case. She had to stop in order to save herself. Now, she focused on her remaining family, running her costume business and acting in the local theater circuit. 

She spent years in therapy learning how to establish and respect her own boundaries. Her boundary had been no more con work. But this Petyr Baelish had tried to kill her baby sister. That could not go unpunished. 

She felt the cold claws of the wolf within tearing at her sweet facade; her soft, porcelain skin hardening into steel. 

**…**

“Oh!” Sansa gasped. 

Arya had roughly described the team she’d worked with. Gendry with his classically handsome good looks (she hadn’t said those words exactly, but Sansa could tell Arya was interested), Sandor, with his massive muscles, and Tyrion, of course. Arya had been fairly thorough, but still, Sansa hadn't been prepared for the sight that greeted her when she walked out of the theater. 

The four others were standing in a bit of a huddle, clearly discussing something heatedly. The man, who she assumed was Gendry, was slouching against the black sedan, his hands in his pockets, black hair sticking up in disarray. _‘He’s nervous. Nervous and...’_ she tilted her head at the way he looked at Arya’s legs. “ _Nervous and turned on.”_ she thought, with a small chuckle. 

Next to him was Arya, one hand on her hip, the other on Needle. Sansa sighed. She honestly did try to teach her proper manners growing up, but she really was a wild little wolf, and once their parents died, there was no saving her social graces. 

On the other side of her sister was Tyrion, just barely shorter than her petite sister. He looked less frantic than Gendry, but by no means comfortable. He looked rough. He was sporting some stubble and bags under his eyes. Her heart ached for him. The news about his wife’s passing had reached her here in the north, and he clearly hadn’t been coping. Tyrion had always been kind to her in the past. They didn’t know each other well by any means, but they had interacted. He’d given her a beautiful wooden jewelry box in a gift exchange once. It was made out of old Weirwood and had a dragonfly inlay of blue chalcedony. She cherished it still. 

It was the man across from Arya that made her gasp. He was massive, bigger than anyone she’d ever met. She stood fairly tall for a woman, but she would only barely come up to his chest. He had shiny dark hair hanging low on his shoulders. Most men up north sported their hair in a bun, which she loved, but it was quite refreshing to see his down. He wore a yellow and black flannel buttoned halfway up over a black thermal, which stretched to barely contain his unbelievable chest muscles. His sleeves were pushed up in a manner that showed off his rather extraordinary forearms. One arm was bare, but the right forearm was covered in a rippling tattoo design that she couldn't quite make out. She’d made eye contact with him when he turned, alerted to her presence. She froze, his gaze like a hunter’s scope and she the deer. It was like white-hot lasers pulsing through her eyes and all the way down to her toes, making quite the pitstop between her legs, making her shiver. It nearly knocked the wind out of her. It was later that she even noticed the light burn scars that roped their way along his right side from his scalp to at least into the collar of his henley. If she was being honest, she’d never liked rugged men before Joff and Ramsay. She’d even briefly dated the heir to a rose fortune, which is about as far away from rugged as one could get. But now? Sansa couldn’t ignore the signals her body was sending her. Signals she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

He turned away much quicker than she would have liked, with an unreadable expression. ‘ _Fear? Pain? Loss? What is it —’_

Tyrion laughed, breaking away her attention from Sandor. 

Tyrion smiled and clapped quietly. “I thought you were great!”

Sansa giggled, “My only fans,” she said, placing her hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“Arya tells me you’re in need of a grifter? I’m a citizen now. Honest...mostly.”

“I’m not,” Tyrion replied with a small smile. 

“You’re playing my side?” She glanced back up at the rest of the team, taking care not to stare at Sandor. “I always thought you had it in you. You always were the smartest one in the family.”

Tyrion shrugged. “So, are you in?”

“A chance to mess up the guy who wanted to hurt my sister? I wouldn’t miss this.” She felt her eyes harden. 

Sansa heard Sandor suck in a breath. 

Tyrion nodded, and turned to look at the rest of the team. “All right. All right, let’s break the law just one more time.”

Arya put up her hand. “But first, let’s get some food.” She looked at Sansa. “Potato Dumps?” 

Sansa laughed at Sandor and Gendry’s twin expressions of confusion. “Always.” 

Sansa watched as Arya, Gendry, and Tyrion made their way to the dark sedan behind them. Sandor turned the other way. She saw her chance. 

“Hey! Arya, I think I’m going to ride with Sandor, if that’s alright?”

Sandor stiffened. 

“I just...you don't know how to get there…” she said, shyly. 

Sandor seemed to wake up at that and nodded minutely. 

Sansa smiled up at him and turned to see her sister shooting her a smug expression. 

“Okay, sure Sans. See you there? First one there gets to pick the music!” Arya shouted, then took off to the driver’s side of the car. Sansa laughed softly, knowing what they were in for. 

She turned to look up at Sandor, realizing she’d just kind of shoved herself at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Sandor cut her off with a wave of his arm. “Don’t worry about it. You can tell me where to go?”

She nodded with a smile. 

He led her back to his car, a classic black muscle car, and she smiled to herself. “Pretty,” she said, touching the cool metal. 

“This is a 1970 Dodge Challenger, girl. It is not pretty. It’s powerful and dangerous...and manly,” he said, tacking ‘manly’ on as an afterthought.

Sansa raised her eyebrows, detecting some humor. “Okay...not pretty. Sexy. Got it.” She laughed in earnest at his shocked expression. 

She was surprised when he held the door open for her, and then walked around to get in the driver’s side. She hadn’t expected that based on Arya’s rough description of him. “ _How gallant.”_ It was at that moment that Sansa vowed to herself that she’d figure him out. The sooner the better.

“I have to be honest. I don’t know much about cars. That’s more Arya’s department. And our cousin Jon. They restored her mustang together. But this is really nice,” she said, gently touching the soft interior. His car was all black on the inside as well and it smelled really quite nice, not at all like the fake “new car” smell that most men seemed to favor. This smelled like leather and pipe tobacco and cedar. 

“It was my dads, and I restored it myself. My brother wanted something new, so I got it. She’s a bit temperamental, but doesn’t bother me.” He turned the key and the car roared to life. It sent vibrations deeply through her entire body. ‘ _Sexy and powerful, indeed.’_

I really appreciate you driving me. Otherwise I’d have to ride with Arya, which I swore off years ago. His mouth twitched as she turned to look at him, the faintest hint of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I take off my shoes? My feet are killing me,” Sansa said, rubbing at her left arch. 

“Uh...go for it.” He grunted out, as if he were very uncomfortable. 

“Oh thank you! Umm, turn left here. Then you’re gonna want to be in the right lane,” she said, taking off her shoes. “Ohhhhh” she practically moaned. When she realized the noise she made, she turned bright red. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sandor’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. ‘ _Interesting.’_

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly, but it felt loaded, thick. She tried to focus on the soft music playing through his bluetooth and into his stereo instead of getting inside her own head. It was easy to disarm men she loathed. It was much harder stripping away the artifice and putting herself out there. A jangly guitar song intro started playing on his radio, and Sansa gasped when she recognized the almost mournful vocals of Robert Plant. 

_“I should have quit you a long time ago”_

“I love this song!” she squealed, reaching for the volume knob without thinking. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Sandor went to turn the knob at the same time. His tanned, scarred fingers touched her soft fingertips and it was like a bolt of electricity singed up her arm. She reflexively pulled her hand back, but wished she hadn’t. 

“Sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it Little Bird,” he said, with a small smile. She flashed him a confused look. “Your necklace,” he said, nodding towards her chest. 

“Oh,” she said, softly, touching the tiny rose gold hummingbird resting at the very top of her modest cleavage. 

His wrist flexed and his fingers twisted the knob up so the song was clearer. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Led Zeppelin girl.” 

Sansa sighed. “Most people wouldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely more of a Beatles/Bob Dylan/Fleetwood girl, but our dad raised us on all kinds of classic rock, so I developed a pretty well rounded appreciation for music. When I was a kid, I didn’t really appreciate it. I liked the pop music that all my friends listened to. Songs about first love and fairy tales. I don’t know….I guess once you realize it’s all fake manufactured stuff, it loses a bit of its appeal.” 

Sandor seemed to frown at that. Pressing gently on the brake to stop at a stoplight. 

“He sounds pretty cool.”

“He was the best.”

They met each other's eyes for what seemed to Sansa like hours. She felt a shiver go down her spine. There was a softness in his eyes, but something else. 

A car behind them honked, jolting them both out of their moment. Sandor shook his head and swore softly under his breath, then pressed once again on the accelerator and drove on, following Sansa’s prior directions. 

As she studied his profile, she saw that goosebumps had risen on his arm, all the way up into his shirt sleeve. It gave her courage. 

They fell into a thankfully comfortable silence, Sansa watching his right hand as it maneuvered the gear shift. It was hypnotizing. So much so, she almost forgot she was giving him directions. 

“Oh! Turn right here, and then it’s gonna be up on the left. It’s street parking, so wherever this _powerful manly_ machine can fit, go for it,” she said with a laugh. Without thinking, she added “That is, if it’s not too big,” with a wink, taken by surprise by her own daring. 

He made a noise similar to a choke deeply down in his throat, and Sansa felt a fluttering in her stomach as she just barely saw his pupils dilate before turning away from her gaze. ‘ _This is going to be fun.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start with Sansa as Sophie Deveraux! Sophie (if that's even her real name) is one of the world's best grifters. You may know them as "Con Men," but Sophie insists she's more of an artist than that. One major part of departure from Sansa is that Sophie has a clear flirtatious (if not romantic) history with Nate (Tyrion's character), and while it would have been possible to make the Sansa and Tyrion the same way, it just wasn't the direction I wanted to go. This Sansa got out of her relationship with Joff before it got as bad as it did in the books, so Tyrion probably wouldn't know her well. Sorry to any shippers, it's just not my thing! Sophie is very smart and extremely adept at reading people. Her biggest failure in life is that she's possibly the world's worst actress. In the show, Nate says "Sophie Deveraux is the best actress this world has ever seen...when it's a con." I think the way she adapts in King's Landing, acting and learning to lie, as well as with Baelish and in her becoming Alayne, really translate well to her being a grifter. 
> 
> So....I went and based Winterfell on a city near and dear to my heart, Bellingham, Washington. I truly couldn't resist. The "city" where the original heist happened and where Gendry's safe house is located in is based on Seattle. 
> 
> The theater in this chapter is a real theater in Bellingham! It's called the Bellingham Theater Guild Playhouse, and it was built as a church in 1902.
> 
> The Led Zeppelin song is The Lemon Song. I thought Sansa would really relate to the lyrics, plus...you know...lemons.


	7. "He's a Growing Boy...Or Something"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team get to know one another a little bit better, and Sansa tries to prove herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit! I apologize for that, but I had a tough week and was too tired to really write properly. I did get all the picsets done for the first six chapters, so check those out! You can also find them on my tumblr, my account is under the same name. 
> 
> I think from here on out, I'm going to aim for once a week, so expect chapter 8 around next Saturday.

Sansa led the way into a tiny restaurant stuck in between two other buildings, so the inner walls were made out of an incongruous assortment of bricks. Sandor had no idea what the name of the restaurant was (never mind that he had no idea what kind of food they served) because, though the name was lit up on a neon sign in the dingy window, it was written in a foreign script. He sighed. He had been on his toes from the moment he saw Sansa, why stop now? 

As they walked through the door, Sandor saw that it wasn’t really a restaurant, per se. It was more fast food than a traditional sit down restaurant. The room itself was long and skinny. There were small round tables throughout, with a central area that appeared to be the cooking area. It couldn’t really be called a kitchen, because it was just a square area surrounded by a brick half-wall and contained cooking surfaces upon which several huge metal pots sat. There was only one employee working, and she’d just finished up ringing up Tyrion. He still had no idea what food he was in for. 

Arya was standing near the counter, fiddling with a turntable and a record. She lifted her chin in greeting, eyebrow raising before returning to her task. 

Sansa turned around to him as they walked in, smiling. “Do you trust me?”

He blinked rapidly a few times. What the hell had he gotten himself into? “Sure, Little Bird.”

Her smile widened. “Good. I’m gonna order for you. Why don’t you go sit with Gendry and Tyrion?”

She gestured at the small round table situated towards the back of the long, narrow room. Gendry was sitting there, fucking around with his phone, Tyrion had sat down and was now drinking a can of beer, surveying the room. Sandor grunted in response and walked to the table before sitting down, watching Sansa the entire time. 

Sansa finished placing her order and paying before she turned to her sister. 

Arya's back was to her as she placed the needle down on the record. Expecting the opening notes of Hells Bells, Sansa's eyebrows shot up when she heard Hall & Oates echo from the speakers. "Gendry picked it," she said with a shrug. 

Sansa raised an eyebrow. Arya _never_ let someone else pick the music. She always played _Back in Black_ . Just as Sansa always played Fleetwood Mac's _Rumors_. It was a stubborn Stark tradition at this point. 

“Arya, I want second,” Sansa said, poking her sister in the shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah. We know,” she said, rolling her eyes, and stalking to the back, stopping to grab a cola and an orange soda from the cooler. 

“So...did Fido make you sit in silence on the way here? Heard he did that with Gen and Tyrion.” 

“Oh! Um...no...we talked...and don’t call him that. It’s rude,” Sansa said, feeling her face redden. 

“What the fuck does that mean, and why do you look so guilty? Spill, bitch!” 

Arya was looking up at her with that maniacal look she always got when she was ready to steal something. 

“There’s nothing to spill. We just talked.”

They’d reached the table by this point, but Sansa was determined to look only at Arya so she wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Sandor and turn even more red. Sometimes she cursed the luck she had to be born a redhead. 

“Sans. I know when you’re lying. You’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met.”

Gendry perked up at that. “Wait. So you’re a shit liar but you’re also a grifter?”

Sansa just nodded. 

“So how does that work?’ Sansa finally looked up, meeting Sandor’s eyes in response to his question. 

Sansa sat down, knowing she’d have to explain in order to get their trust. “I just don’t lie.”

Sandor’s eyebrows knit together at that. 

“What?” Tyrion asked, intensely curious now. 

"I'm not lying. I...I just become another person when I grift, and that person simply gives the mark who and what they want. You’d be surprised how often people don’t ask questions when their dreams are coming true.”

"And you always know exactly who and what someone wants?” Sandor sat further forward, balancing his chin on his left hand, elbow bent on the table. 

She looked him dead in the eye, a small smirk played across her lips, one eyebrow raised minutely. She could almost literally feel the attraction buzzing between them. 

"Always."

“Two potato, four meat?” Sansa started as the woman’s voice called out that their order was ready. 

“I’ve got it,” Arya said, then, at Gendry, “Gen, you can help.” He got up without a word of argument. 

Sandor found himself breathing quicker than normal, his body tense as a bowstring. Sansa was still watching him. She’d said she always knew what someone wanted. _‘Does that mean…’_ His thoughts were interrupted by Arya and Gendry returning to the table with six small to-go containers and an armful of small clear containers full of a white substance and some forks. 

“Okay, so who got meat?” Arya began setting down the containers labelled with an M in permanent marker

Sansa grabbed the top two and set them down in front of Sandor without a word. Then, she turned to Gendry and grasped two white containers and a fork. Sandor raised his eyebrows at her, but she only smiled. She leaned further in front of him, giving him a smell of something citrusy yet warm, and utterly fucking delicious, though Sandor wasn’t sure where her perfume ended and she began. 

Sansa turned to look at him, and then, winking, she popped open the lids.

Sandor chuckled. “So...dumps...dumplings?” 

Sansa smiled. “Best in the north. They sell beef and potato.” She eyed his body not inconspicuously. “I figured you’d like the protein.” Sandor’s pulse quickened under her scrutiny. 

“Beef works,” he said, feeling like a greenboy sitting next to his Kindergarten crush. It was fucking embarrassing. 

“So, here’s how we eat them, but you’re welcome to do it however you prefer,” Sansa said, opening her container marked with a “P.” ‘ _So fucking polite.’_

“So I like to take a dumpling in the spoon, then scoop up a little of the sour cream, and then as I'm chewing, I take a bite of the rye bread. That way you get a mouthful of all three.” Then, she demonstrated, taking a tiny bite of her first dumpling. Sandor figured if it was good enough for her, it was good enough for him, so he did the same. He found the cool sour cream worked well with the spicy sauce on top of the hot meat and dough, and the herbal flavors from the rye bread really complimented it all. 

He grunted in approval. “These are good.” 

Sansa flashed him a smile. “They’re a local favorite. I’m glad you like them.” 

They ate and talked for a little while, but eventually, Arya got stir crazy and declared that she was ready for a drink. As she was doing so, she got a wild look in her eye and looked at her sister. Sansa didn’t always love being on the receiving end of those looks. “Sans, why don’t you show the boys what you can do?” Sansa knew exactly which trick she wanted her to do, but wasn’t opposed to it. She knew she needed to gain the trust of the team and this would be a good way to prove herself. A tiny voice in her head said that she also desperately wanted to impress Sandor. Without meaning to, she looked up, meeting his powerful gaze. 

“Sure, Arya. Let’s go,” she said, with a smile. 

**…**

  
  


They walked the short trip to a speakeasy-style bar, Arya leading the way. Tyrion was impressed. Frankly, he hadn’t expected much of the bars up north, but this was on par with any of the bars down in the Crownlands. This bar was dimly lit with candles on every table. It had big, plush, black leather booths and shining marble floors. Dozens of high end alcohol bottles glittred along the back of the bar. Arya raised her hand in greeting to the pretty brunette behind the bar, who inclined her head before going back to work at making a cocktail. Tyrion expected Arya to stop at one of the booths, but she kept walking, taking a left in the darkened hallway and pushing into a well-lit room with a large round table and plush chairs. 

Arya perched in one and turned to look at the group. 

“The owner, Mya, is a good friend of Sansa’s, She lets us come here and not be bothered. I figured back here is as good a place as any to go over what the plan is for tomorrow.” Tyrion nodded at that, which prompted Ayra to continue. “Gendry, why don’t you set up while we wait for Sansa?” 

“Where’d she go?” Sandor asked, clearly without thinking about it, if his facial reaction was anything to go by, his eyes widening minutely. Tyrion smirked. 

Arya smiled at the question. “First of all, I see what’s going on, and I’m totally weirded out,” Sandor rolled his eyes dramatically at that, “and second, she’s about to do her party trick. Just wait a second.”

Sandor grunted and took a seat with his back to the corner of the room. 

About five minutes later, Sansa came into the room, a giant smile on her face, carrying a drink in her right hand, shortly followed by the bartender they’d seen on their walk in. Tyrion was struck by how different Sansa looked now than she had the years prior. She hadn’t aged much, that’s not what was different. Looking back on _that_ Sansa, the one practically engaged to his nephew, he could see now how deeply unhappy she must have been. This Sansa, the radiant woman in front of him, was nothing like her. She looked strong and happy, deeply content in the North where she belonged, with her sister and surrounded by people who loved her. ‘ _Good for her,’_ Tyrion thought. 

“Okay,” Sansa said, as the bartender set down her tray heavily laden with various glasses. She winked at Sansa and then left. “I took the liberty to order your drinks.” She began setting them in front of their respective recipients. “So, Tyrion, I got you a nice dry Cabernet Sauvignon,” she said brightly, setting a large glass down in front of him, its contents nearly black with the dark red liquid. Tyrion was impressed. 

“Next, Arya. A Black and Tan, of course,” she said as if she’d ordered that drink many times for her sister, though she probably had. In front of Arya, who promptly lifted the glass to her lips and took a deep swig, Sansa placed a pint glass containing two liquids. On the bottom half of the glass was a translucent gold, presumably a lighter beer, and the top half was a thick, dark liquid, like a stout. Arya smiled and sighed happily. 

“Gendry, I could tell you weren’t a big drinker, but when in Rome, right?” Gendry nodded, surprised. “So I got you the Lucille IPA,” she said, setting down an IPA glass filled with a rich amber colored liquid. 

“Sandor, I could probably have just gotten you like a full keg of ale, but where’s the fun in that?” she said with a laugh. She placed a lowball glass in front of the man that was nearly full with a rich-looking golden liquid. Sandor eyed the glass and then Sansa before bringing the glass up to his lips. He closed his eyes as he swallowed, clearly pleased. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking at Sansa in wonder. “How the fuck?” 

“Four fingers of Bruichladdich from the Westerlands. Unpeated, I guessed.” Sandor chuckled softly at the last part. 

“How did you guess my favorite whisky?” He asked, in wonder. Tyrion was genuinely impressed. Based on Sandor’s reaction and on his own order, Sansa had just nailed each and every one of their drink orders. Maybe Arya had a point when she described her sister as the best. This could be very interesting.

“What did you get for yourself?” Gendry asked. 

“Oh! I got what they call a Cabaret Voltaire. It’s my favorite. Champagne, lemon, some gin, and a touch of absinthe, with a sugared rim and a lemon peel. Lemony but also a bit earthy. Plus it comes in a fun glass!” she exclaimed as she held up the champagne coupe. 

Tyrion laughed. “Okay, so now that it’s clear that Sansa knows an uncomfortable amount about us all, shall we get started?” He nodded at Gendry, who put down his beer and opened his laptop, while Tyrion pulled a folder, a notebook, and a pen out of his messenger bag. A few moments later, he pivoted the laptop to show the rest of the team the screen as he spoke them through his intel.

“Wait,” Sandor said, standing up from his chair in between Sansa and Gendry. “I’m getting some food. Don’t start without me,” he grunted. And with that, slammed through the door into the bar beyond. 

“Didn’t he _just_ eat two helpings of dumplings?” Arya asked nobody in particular. Sansa just laughed. 

“He’s a growing boy...or something,” Tyrion replied without inflection or looking up from his notes.

Arya snorted in response. 

Arya took this opportunity to talk to Gendry some more. They’d really gotten on during the long car ride, and then again at dinner, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there. 

“So did you like your beer?” It was nearly half gone already. 

Gendry looked down at it. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised. I don’t drink much, but when I do, I usually just get what’s cheapest. I’m not very picky, but this one is really good. I like the name, too.” He said the last sentence quietly, almost to himself. 

Arya thought back to the fridge full of orange soda, suppressing a laugh. _‘What an idiot.’_ “Yeah, this one’s good. Local.”

“What did she get you?” he asked, motioning at her drink. 

“Oh, it’s called a Black and Tan. It’s an ale layered with a stout. It’s my favorite,” she said, with a smile. “Did you want to try it?” 

Gendry nodded and took a sip, trying not to pull a face at the stout flavor. 

Arya laughed, heartily. “I take it you don’t drink stouts often?” 

Gendry just shook his head with a grimace and drank some of his beer to clear the taste out of his mouth. 

Arya was still laughing when the door flew open, Sandor walking in back-first, and as he turned, appeared to be carrying the largest plate of charcuterie Arya had ever seen.

“Holy shit. Did you get double meat?” Arya asked. 

He sported a wolfish grin, or as close to one as one could get while having a large piece of prosciutto hanging out of his mouth, mid chew, and nodded voraciously. 

“Seven fuck, the North will be out of animals if you keep going at this rate,” Arya said, in mock and also real annoyance. 

Sandor simply shrugged as he took his seat in the corner. 

“Okay,” Tyrion said, “Gendry, you ready?” 

Gendry nodded, and began. Displayed on the screen was a screengrab of Baelish, pulled presumably from some recent photoshoot with the company. 

“Petyr Baelish, executive vice-president in charge of new technology development over at Fingers Aerospace. Rich daddy, trust fund, KLU MBA. Blah, blah blah.”

Sandor grunted. “And a complete fucking cunt.” 

“You sure you never dated him, Sans?” Arya smirked. Sansa rolled her eyes, but Arya had a point, and she knew it. Before, Sansa really had exclusively dated upper crust boys with a less than stellar track record regarding abuse. This guy sounded right up her alley, at least the old Sansa’s alley. 

Tyrion, ignoring Arya’s quip, made a noise deep in his throat. “Petyr? Now when was the last time you met a Petyr?”

Sandor finished chewing a chunk of meat, something that looked a bit like chicken, and said “Essos. Town called Ny Sar.” He looked back down at his plate, choosing a green olive and popping it into his mouth. 

Arya watched as Sansa smiled minutely, and turned to face Sandor. “At the meeting of the Rhoyne and the Noyne rivers?” Then, she gently reached down to Sandor’s plate with her long, elegant fingers, and picked up an apple slice and ate it, not breaking eye contact. Arya was sure Sandor would not be pleased with someone stealing his food, but instead, he looked entranced, clearly staring at Sansa without any remorse or embarrassment. Arya would actually be impressed by his guts if it weren't absolutely disgusting. 

“That’s an odd thing for you to know.” he said, still without breaking eye contact. 

Arching an eyebrow, Sansa smiled. “That’s an odd place for you to be.”

They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long period of time before Arya had had enough. It was getting fucking weird. 

“Okaaaay….Gendry?” she said, indicating that he should continue with an agitated arm movement. 

Gendry cleared his throat. “Right. Right! Now, Fingers is in charge of a lot of big fat government contracts. Some Department of Defense research, very classified stuff.”

“Can we use that?” Arya asked. 

Gendry shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth on his forehead from where he must have pulled his fingers through it earlier. “No, I don’t think so. Baelish is only in charge of their commercial airline business. Guess his old man didn’t trust him enough to run the whole thing.”

Tyrion nodded. “I know when you sent Baelish his designs you weren’t supposed to make any copies…”

Gendry pulled a contrite expression. “No, I promised. That would be very wrong.”

A slow smile spread upon Tyrion’s face. “Show me your copies,” he said, taking a deep swig of his wine. 

Gendry flashed a frankly roguish smile, one that made Arya a bit dizzy, and typed in something on his laptop. A 3-D rendering of a blueprint popped up on the screen.

“It’s an airplane,” Sandor said with a chunk of sausage in his hand. 

“It’s a short alt domestic airliner, yeah, usually one hour flights,” Tyrion said, smiling sagely. “It’s the fastest growing segment of the industry, very fuel efficient. High tech. Very nice carbon nose, it’s got the titanium wrap. 3 to 1.”

Everyone in the room turned to look to Tyrion in surprise. 

Tyrion snorted. “You know, you pick up things here and there. It’s kind of what I do. I know things. Well...and I drink,” he said, taking a drink of his wine. 

Gendry looked at him in disbelief. “You know a lot of stuff.” He typed a little, then made a note of interest. “Check this out. Now, Baelish and Tarth, they were head to head for five years trying to grab the lead in an industry that’s worth just an absolute shitton of crowns.”

He displayed a picture of Brienne Tarth, the CEO, then a short clip of her at a recent press conference explaining that there had been a robbery at their headquarters. She looked genuinely upset. 

Arya nodded. “So Tarth got there first, Baelish took a short cut. Well, he had _us_ take a shortcut.”

Tyrion smiled. “So he’s got a rival. He’s got a rival that pisses him off so much he hired us to steal his designs. This is good.”

Sansa had been observing quietly. “So, What are you thinking, Tyrion?”

Tyrion’s smile widened, his eyes almost manic. “I’m thinking Braavosis. Yeah, Braavosis will do nicely” 

He nodded. He grasped his wine glass and drained it, then stood and walked out of the room without a backwards glance. 

Arya frowned. “Well, he’s got some intense energy.”

A moment later, Tyrion came rushing back into the room, then turned his wide eyes on Sansa. “I don’t suppose you have room for us tonight?”

Sansa turned to look at her other companions, lingering on Sandor until finally making eye contact with Arya, who was finishing off her beer. She shrugged. “I suppose that can be arranged,” she said, with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two locations we have here are both based on my favorite places in Bellingham. First is Pel'Meni, a delicious dumplings eatery that's basically open 24/7, and a favorite of drunk college students. They have a modest record collection and it's always a lot of fun to find a gem and play it. Fun fact, the photo in the picset of the dumplings is my own! (As is the picture of Sansa's drink)
> 
> The second is a bar called Galloway's, which has the best charcuterie plate in town (which I can say with great Charcuterie authority) and really great ambiance. 
> 
> Sansa's favorite drink comes from a bar called the Temple Bar, and it's my actual favorite, with Arya's Black and Tan being my second favorite. I honestly picture Gendry as drinking whatever (if he drinks at all) but I came across the local beer called Lucille and it was too much to ignore. For those of you not familiar with the show, Hardison (Gendry) has a van called Lucille and he loves it very much. I thought it would be a nice nod to that. I thought Sandor would appreciate a good whisky, but I doubt the man would appreciate the campfire taste, hence it being an unpeated whisky. 
> 
> Lastly, I, because I can't turn my brain off, have imagined which perfumes the ladies would wear. Sansa would wear Chanel's Paris-Biarriz, which is a lemony and floral perfume inspired by "the peaceful" getaway and the freedom that came with it, which I thought really suited Sansa. Arya would wear Juliet's Got A Gun's Not A Perfume (which I wear) because it's subtle and clean.


	8. "Welcome to Winterfell, Boys"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team settles in at Winterfell 2 and get to know each other a bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long. For a while there, I was able to write a chapter a night, and I thought I could keep that up. Unfortunately, life has happened in a big way, so I think my pace is going to be a bit slower. Another factor (and this really was the main one) was that I really wanted to get the mental image of Winterfell 2 just right. Design is something really important to me. I notice all the details in stories and movies and TV shows, and I wanted to do right by all those design nerds out there. All the visual details I’ve written are planned and thought through to an annoying degree. Unfortunately, my computer is out of commission for the next few weeks, so my picset isn't great, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. 
> 
> I need your input! I personally enjoy E fics myself, but I want to know how you all would feel about some (maybe not explicit, IDK) sex scenes? Would it bother any of you, despite the rating being at M already? Let me know!

Arya knew that Sansa wasn’t so sure about letting the rest of the team come back to Winterfell 2, but she had the feeling that Gendry wouldn’t hurt a fly, despite his size. Tyrion was obviously no fighter, and besides that, he was the only honest man among them. Sandor was the only one who could cause any real damage, and it was clear that he was wrapped around Sansa’s perfectly manicured finger. _‘The Hound might as well be known as The Puppy at this rate,’_ Arya thought with a snort. 

They’d decided to keep the same car arrangement as what they had in getting to the restaurant, so Sansa rode with Sandor and they led the way to the secluded wooded area where they had bought their new family home. It was just Sansa most of the time, though Arya tried to come home at least twice a month. She knew Sansa struggled when she wasn’t there, but it was unavoidable in her line of work. Arya kept telling Sansa to get a dog, but Sansa had argued against it every time Arya had brought it up. Something about too much upkeep and attention. _‘So much for that,’_ Arya thought, eyeing the black Challenger. 

She felt herself relaxing her shoulders and breathing deeper, soaking in the sights and smells of _home. ‘How long had it been this time? Two months?’_ She was so ready to sleep in her own bed again, comfortable as Gendry’s had been for that nap earlier. 

The Challenger stopped ahead at the large gate, and Arya's eyebrows shot up as she saw Sansa’s hand type in the code, rather than Sandor’s. Either Sansa didn’t trust him with the code, which she supposed was fair, _or…_ or she just wanted to slide across Sandor. Arya closed her eyes and shook her head, more than a little grossed out, but quite impressed. She didn't often get to see her sister be brash and direct, but when she did, Arya was reminded that Sansa was just as much a wolf as her and Rickon. 

Rather than climb onto Tyrion’s lap, Arya instructed Tyrion to pull up a little further so she could punch in the code herself. Still chuckling at the mental image of Sandor’s reaction to suddenly receiving a lapful of Sansa, she punched in 070809, this week's code. 

Once the gate swung open, Tyrion slowly drove the car through, winding down the curving dirt path. 

Gendry’s jaw dropped when the house came into view. He had meant to play it cool, knowing they came from money and surely had an extravagant house. He wasn't prepared for what he saw as they turned around the last corner. He had never seen anything like it. 

Arya took one look at Gendry’s face and chuckled. “Welcome to Winterfell, boys.” 

The house itself wasn't particularly large or expensive-looking. It looked a bit like a wood cabin, but with an A Frame roof and huge windows, and it was a soft, muted greenish blue, the color of sea glass. He could see a sizable rock chimney off to the side. As they got closer, his eyes made out the cylindrical shape of a wooden sauna nestled into the trees, and an intricate glass garden further beyond that. 

A large porch wrapped around the front and one side of the house, a set of chairs and a swing sat upon it. Above the front door, there was a rough-hewn piece of wood with the name "Winterfell II" carved deep into the surface. 

Evergreen trees towered around and over the house, while a river flowed gently behind it. He couldn't hear any noise from the freeway or any surrounding roads. It was just the gentle wind and soft bird chirps, and the gurgle of the water. It was like he'd fallen into some kind of Norman Rockwell painting of the North, far away from all the troubles of the world. 

While the house itself wasn't as large as he'd expected, that didn’t stop it from being exactly as nice as he’d pictured. He knew the Starks came from money because he’d researched his team after they’d met that night. Well, more accurately, he looked up Clegane and Tyrion, and then spent several hours poring over the enigma that is Arya Stark. While it was tough to track down Arya, her family had been in the public eye for years. All it took was knowing her real name. As he delved deeper and deeper into her past, he uncovered more and more aliases. Eventually, he found out her name was Arya Lyanna Stark, and her family was perhaps one of the oldest and wealthiest families in all of Westeros. What came out of his search was a deep empathy and respect for the Stark sisters. He hadn’t met their brothers, but he was sure he’d feel the same way with them, too. Both had gone through so much; Sansa with the abuse, and Arya with her years on the street following her parents’ death. He hadn’t brought any of that up to them. It was clearly deeply privileged information a very select few could have known. Gendry knew what it was like to have secrets, and he was going to wait until Arya wanted to tell him, if ever. If she never trusted him? He’d understand, but he also hoped that they might get there eventually. He’d really started to enjoy spending time with her. 

"So let's get you to your rooms and then I suppose we'll do a tour?" 

His thoughts were interrupted by Sansa’s soft voice, an uptick her tone declaring her statement a question in Arya's direction. 

"Yeah, that way none of them will wake me up tomorrow when they can't find the bathroom or the gym." She said the last word like a threat, staring directly at Sandor. 

Gendry decided now wasn't the time to say that he would also like to know where the gym was. 

Sansa led the way into the house, first stopping to type in a code at the door and then using two different keys for the locks. Gendry's stomach clenched at that. He couldn’t imagine going through what she had, but at least she had Arya. Surely Arya had been the one to pick out their security. ' _That reminds me. I have to get her to show me how she broke into my flat.'_ Gendry thought, his mouth pitching up into a lopsided grin. 

They were greeted by the smells of fresh cedar and clean laundry as they walked through the door. Based on the surroundings, he assumed it was going to be dark inside, but the opposite was true. The walls were a white wood paneling, and the entry led straight into the living space, which meant he could see straight through the windows looking out onto the river behind the home. Hallways led off from each side of the main room, the kitchen and dining space on one side, and what looked like stairs and more rooms on the other. 

"So this is our living room. Over there is the only free room on the ground floor, Bran’s room when he's home. It's got it's own attached half bath. One of you can take that one.

Tyrion called dibs on Bran’s room the moment he saw it, and solidified his claim by marching straight into it and shutting the door. The four others heard the audible _click_ of the lock and then turned away. “I guess that’s settled,” Sansa said, bemusedly. They heard the sounds of the shower being turned on not two minutes after he’d locked the door. 

Sansa wandered towards the kitchen as she gestured to the areas of the ground floor, giving details and explanations here and there. Sansa was a bit embarrassed, if she was honest with herself. They grew up in the original Winterfell with their parents. It felt a bit silly to live in a house with a name, but the original Starks built it and named it before the town was founded. The settlers were so struck by the home that they called the town Winterfell in its honor. After her parents and Robb had died, the size of the home was both impractical and unsustainable. Bran struggled to get around with all the tight hallways and the countless stairs, and the property taxes were unbelievably high. Sansa had moved away to college before the accident, but when she came back, she was put in charge of the housing and financial decisions. Jon was the oldest, but he was only their biological cousin, so he had no legal grounds to be the head of the family. It was a tough decision, but eventually the family decided to sell it to the Winterfell Historical Society and move into a smaller, more reasonable home. The seclusion, though partially necessary for Arya’s career path and Rickon’s... _everything_ , was a godsend to Sansa as she struggled to feel safe again. Here, surrounded by trees and the small river, Sansa felt protected in a way she never had in the bustling city of King’s Landing. It seemed like the little girl who dreamed of living in the big city was a completely different person to her now. 

Rickon left for college down in the Neck last year, so now she was all alone unless Arya was in between thefts. Bran was happily studying in Oldtown and travel was difficult for him, so she understood why he kept his distance. Jon did try, and he meant well, but his job in the military just wasn’t one that offered flexibility. 

As they finished up one end of the floor, they turned around and walked back through to the living room. 

“That’s the gym, through there,” she said, gesturing to an open door. Through it, Gendry could see a very expensive and unique home gym. There was a treadmill, a deluxe rowing machine that caught his eye, free weights, a bench and mats like most gyms. What made it unique was the massive rock wall which crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling. Near that were a set of thick ropes dangling down from the ceiling, hanging what must have been thirty feet into the air. It almost looked like they had demo-ed a room or two above the space, just to extend the ceiling so high. There was a metal pole along the length of another wall, the kind that dancing studios had. Everything was in shades of gray and black, with all the metal details in a brushed nickel color. He was very, very excited to try it out in the morning. 

“Don’t fuck up my gym,” Arya said from just behind him, causing him to jump a bit. He desperately wanted to know how she moved so silently. It was as terrifying as it was sexy as fuck. 

“There’s a running trail outside, if you prefer running outdoors. It gains a bit in elevation, but nothing too bad. It’s five miles long, so plan accordingly. On the other side of the house is a sauna, if that’s something you're interested in.” Sansa said.

“There better be no fucking nudity.” Arya threatened. 

“So besides this, that’s Arya’s,” Sansa said, gently gesturing at the door down the hall. “The rest of the rooms are upstairs. Unfortunately for you, boys, Winterfell II is much smaller than its namesake, she gestured at the large painting hanging above the living room couch. It was of what looked to be a small castle, which Gendry assumed was the original Winterfell. _'Arya grew up there?'_

Sansa continued, "So you’re going to have to share. The beds are at least doubles, though. Sorry they aren't bigger than that. Jon and Rickon really don’t stay here much, so it seemed silly to invest in extra space and bigger beds for them. Plus they’re both a bit...smaller than you two,” she said, reddening. 

Gendry shrugged and led the way up the stairs in the direction Sansa had indicated. Sansa fought a smile at Sandor’s wary expression, but he eventually followed Gendry. 

  
  


The sisters waited at the bottom of the stairs silently. Waiting. 

A loud _WHACK_ sounded, followed by an equally loud “FUCK!” and an “ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!” Sandor’s voice reaching them downstairs. Sansa turned to Arya, eyes wide and trying to suppress laughter. It was the wrong move, because one glance at Arya’s big eyes broke her. Their laughs were tear-inducing and bone-deep. The laughter seemed only to fan the flames of Sandor’s incredulity as he stomped down the stairs, red-faced. 

“So you expect me to not only share a room with another adult man,” he turned to look at Gendry, who had just walked down behind him, “No, offense.” Gendry just shrugged. 

“I don’t want to share a room either, man.” He seemed to be siding with Sandor on this one. 

“And on top of _that_ I get to hit my head on the pitched roof with every move I fucking make?” 

He was looking back and forth between Arya and Sansa now. Sansa was trying desperately to keep it together, but the wild look in his eyes made it impossible. The mental image of his arriving in the spare bedroom, one she had made up to accommodate Jon and Rickon when they visited, and promptly whacking his head on the pitched ceiling sent her over the edge and she doubled over in laughter yet again. Sandor’s eyes widened in shock. It seemed that some of his anger was draining, not that it was really anger. Just annoyance. Sansa understood that. Frankly, both her and Arya _knew_ that room would cause both men issues. Gendry alone cleared 6’2", and Sandor towered over him. Neither of their brothers were that tall, which was part of the reason they were in that room and not Sansa. Arya got the downstairs room because she liked to sleep-walk, or rather, sleep-climb. One memorable time, Sansa found Arya sleeping deeply along one of the thick wooden beams that stretched across the living room. Sansa still had no idea how she got up there. But anyways, that was mostly taken care of by the climbing equipment in their gym. 

When Sansa finally stopped laughing, she turned back to the men in front of her. “The couch is a pull out. One of you could take that one.” 

With only a grunt, Sandor shot Gendry a look that would make an Unsullied cry, and he ascended the stairs, returning with a duffel. Sansa assumed that meant all the sleeping arrangements had been figured out. 

That is, until Gendry cried “HEY! That’s my bag!”

Without a word and only a subtle head tilt, like a dare, Sandor walked over to the couch and threw Gendry’s bag down. Sansa looked back and forth between the two men, biting her bottom lip at the tension. Gendry seemed to recognize the peril he could be in if he protested, so eventually he shrugged and turned away. 

“Okay…” Sansa trailed off. “I guess that settles that? There’s a bathroom down here, but if you want to shower, you’ll have to go upstairs. There should be plenty of fresh towels in the closet and feel free to use whatever you find in there.” Sansa looked around nervously, unsure of where to go from there. “I think I’m going to shower and prep for tomorrow. There’s beer in the fridge, wine in the pantry...make yourselves at home.” She took a deep breath and ascended the stairs.

Arya just rolled her eyes and walked into her bedroom to change. “I call dibs on the gym!” she yelled out. 

Gendry chuckled gently as he made his way over to his bag, now on _his_ pullout couch. He wanted to finalize some of the intel they would need for tomorrow, and then he figured he might join Arya in their gym. Because he believed in fitness being a priority. No other reason. 

Sandor didn’t particularly want to spend more time with his present company, so he found himself following the little bird up the stairs to his room. While he didn’t much enjoy the angled ceilings, it sure as fuck beat a pull out couch in the middle of the living room. ‘ _I wonder if I can push those two beds together…’_ He was lost in thought when he was stopped in his tracks at the top of the stairs. 

Sansa had stopped at her door, where he watched as she took out another key from her pocket and unlocked her bedroom door before slipping in. It reminded him so much of growing up that it felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He wasn’t sure what the little bird was afraid of, but she was afraid of something. 

Not knowing what to do with himself, he figured he could take a run, check out the local wildlife and soak in some nature. Tearing open his bag, he changed into some grey joggers and running shoes. He pulled the black hair tie off his wrist and pulled back his hair into a secure bun, and then left the house, taking off in the direction of the marked path. 

He decided to run the track twice, reveling in the fresh air filling up his lungs and the cool air against his sweating body. By the time he got back to the house for the second time, he’d been running non-stop for just under the fifty minute mark according to his internal clock. He had a huge smile on his face, the kind nothing but physical exertion could bring him. Since he wasn’t going to get his preferred kind any time soon, he would settle for second best for now. 

As he cleared the treeline, the house came into view. He stopped in his tracks as a lone figure caught his attention. Almost as if she had manifested out of his daydreams, Sansa swayed gently on the swing on the porch, with her long auburn hair slightly damp around her shoulders. She was wrapped up in a grey faux fur blanket, a pair of whimsical wolf slippers on her feet. In her left hand, she clutched a large glass water bottle. He approached quietly, trying not to startle her. One look at her and he could tell she was deep in thought. Sansa looked off into the distance, not really seeing anything, her fingers gently rubbing the rose gold hummingbird around her neck, absentmindedly. 

He sat gently down upon the swing, careful not to sit too closely. The swing swayed softly, and though she didn’t look up, Sandor knew Sansa was aware of his presence. 

Slowly, she turned to look at him, a small smile on her soft pink lips. He internally grimaced, knowing she was on his bad side. Her fingers were still gently rubbing the peaks and valleys of her hummingbird. 

“It suits you,” he said, gesturing to her necklace. 

Her eyes drifted down to her hand. “Little bird, huh?” she said, with a smile. 

He cracked a bashful smile, his eyes dropping to her hand where it still rested on her pendant. 

“Arya gave it to me after our parents and brother died. Story has it that hummingbirds are the messengers to the afterlife and that they bring about healing.” She looked lost in memories, a small smile spreading upon her face. 

‘ _Fuck, she’s beautiful,_ ’ he thought. Slowly her eyes traveled up to his. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks when her clear blue eyes met his. Like being punched in the stomach with brass knuckles. He knew exactly what that felt like, and this was somehow worse but also so, so much better. 

“Oh! Here,” she said, with a start, handing him a cold glass bottle of water, her fingers leaving marks in the condensation. 

He took it gratefully and opened the bottle. He tilted his head back and drank the entire bottle in three strong gulps. 

“I saw you running, so I figured...you might want...” Her voice trailed off and he looked up to see her staring at him, her mouth slightly open. 

Sandor felt the tension there between them as they kept eye contact for another indeterminable time. Without thinking, he blurted out “I like your slippers.”

Sansa threw her head back and laughed deeply. Sandor did everything he could to memorize that moment. “Yeah, I saw them and couldn’t resist.”

“What is it with your family and wolves?” 

Sansa laughed a little more. “Well, the first Starks had a Direwolf on their coat of arms, so it’s just always been a thing. I take more after my mom, but trouts are just not nearly as cute.” She shook her feet back and forth to make her point. 

‘ _She’s got a point there,’_ Sandor acquiesced. 

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, enjoying the view and the sounds of nature. After some time, Sansa turned to face Sandor again. “How are you liking the North? It’s a long way from the Westerlands.” She said the last part with a thick Westerlands accent, a goofy smile upon her face.

He laughed. “It’s not so bad.”

Sansa smiled softly. “It suits you,” echoing his earlier statement.

He didn’t disagree. 

...

  
  


Arya was hanging upside down from a rope when Gendry stomped into the gym. Had it not been for her music selection (the XX was her choice this evening) pouring from the built in speakers, she wasn’t sure he’d even know she was there. Even still, he looked around the room, confused. Deciding to take pity on him, she dropped down onto the floor in a crouch, giggling. 

“Oh SHIT!” he exclaimed in an entirely masculine fashion. 

“Can I help you with something, Waters?” she said, one eyebrow raised and the corners of her mouth threatening to raise. 

"I-uh...I thought I'd come work out. Try out that rowing machine?" He gestured to the top of the line machine nestled near what looked to be a ladder attached to the wall. 

Arya raised her eyebrows. 

It was only then that his eyes scanned what she was wearing. Or, rather, what she wasn’t wearing. She had changed into a black sports bra with what looked like dozens of thin straps snaking up and over her toned shoulders and neck. He felt his eyes bug out as they continued down, down, down, sliding over her exposed torso and fell onto the smallest pair of black spandex shorts he’d ever seen. 

Arya cleared her throat, snapping him out of his reverie. He realized, with horror, that he’d been staring, open-mouthed for Seven knows how long. 

His head snapped up, finally looking into her eyes to find a smug expression and a smirk upon her plump lips. She eyed his body not inconspicuously. “You know how to fight?” Her voice came out huskier than it had before, and that sent chills down his spine. 

Gednry took a step closer to her, yielding to the irresistible electrical pull between them. 

“Uh...yeah. Some I guess. I box.” 

She nodded and walked past him into a closet without saying a word and came back carrying two sets of boxing gloves. One small grey pair, and a bigger black pair. 

“So let’s box.”

“I--we can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.” He gestured to their size difference. “I’m too strong.” He didn’t say it in a smug way, but in a clearly concerned manner. 

“I don’t think you realize how fast I am.” She grinned, showing all her teeth and looking every bit the Stark Wolf. 

Gendry audibly swallowed at the glint in her eyes. 

...

Gendry was good. More than good. But Arya didn’t fight fair, so he ended up with more than a few bruises despite his massive reach and strength advantage. He had no idea what kind of boxing this was, but it was hot as shit and also he never wanted to fight her again. To make matters worse, he’d been hard as a rock since she put on her boxing gloves. 

He did finally manage to land one hit, knocking her right on her shapely ass. She erupted into laughter, and decided they were done for the night, taking off her gloves and throwing them into the corner. 

She walked past him, calling back “Right. I want some beer.”

He nodded, stupidly, as if she could see him with her back turned, rooted to the spot. 

“And so do you, stupid, so let’s go,” she said, popping her head back into the gym. 

“Oh! Yeah. Beer. Good,” he said, following her into the living room,."You know, you shouldn't insult people who are bigger than you." 

Arya scoffed. "Then I wouldn't be able to insult anyone." 

Gendry chuckled, but faltered when his eyes passed over the painting of Winterfell. 

And that’s where Arya found him, standing in front of the Winterfell painting, deeply in awe of the grandeur. He sensed rather than heard Arya stalk up behind him. She gently elbowed his stomach, gesturing at the beer in her hand. He took it, maintaining her eye contact, before lifting it to his lips and taking a leisurely sip. "Thanks."

She shrugged. 

"So what's it like to be an actual princess?" He asked with a grin. 

Arya rolled her eyes. "I’m not a fucking princess." 

She didn't meet his eyes for a moment, then muttered, "Technically, I'm the daughter of a Lord, not a King."

"A Lady then? The Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell." He started to laugh at her murderous expression. Then his eyes widened as he came to a terrifying realization. 

"Shit, I knocked over a Lady! I'm so sorry, Mi'lady, I didn't realise--" 

Arya interrupted his groveling with a hard shove into his shoulder. "Stop calling me that!" 

He kept laughing. "That's not very ladylike." 

The fire roared in her eyes before pushing him hard, where he fell onto the couch, laughing, his eyes brimming with mirth. His beer sloshed all over his already damp shirt, but he didn’t notice. She rolled her eyes at him and stomped off, slamming the black and white door to her bedroom. 

Arya had just slammed her door when she caught her breath enough to realize she had an idea. An excellent idea. Putting her beer down on her bedside table, she turned right around and walked back into the living room, where Gendry was still laughing, beer clutched in his hand and all over his white t-shirt. He stopped laughing when he caught her expression, looking up at her soberly. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” she said. He frowned in confusion. 

“Okay? Enjoy your sh-  
  


‘I’m taking a shower,” she interrupted. “And you’re going to join me.” 

He sucked in a breath and Arya smiled slowly as his pupils dilated. Without saying another word, he sat up, placing his beer gently onto the coffee table. Breathing heavily, he walked up to her, following her toned and sweaty form into her bedroom. 

This time, it was Gendry who slammed the door closed behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tyrion really just wanted a shower and to go to sleep. My guess is he could smell the sexual tension and wanted absolutely none of it. LOL
> 
> Winterfell in the picset is an actual historic home in Bellingham. I thought it was a good modern alternative to using a picture from the show since it still had those cylindrical elements and the gravitas.   
> 
> 
> Real talk? I find Nate to be my least favorite character in Leverage, and out of the five, Tyrion is my least favorite, so don't be surprised when I spend more of my time working on the other characters more. He'll be back in the forefront come heist time.
> 
> I can’t believe how kind you’ve all been about this. Truly, the fact that so many of you have elected to receive updates in your email about my work is just mind boggling. I’m especially humbled by those of you who aren’t familiar with the source material. That’s such a huge leap of faith and I hope I don’t let you (or anyone else reading this) down.


	9. "Gendry. Take Your Clothes Off."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explicit shower for our young hacker and thief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my 28th Birthday!!!! I knew I was getting close to finishing it, but I really made an effort in order to deliver this to you as a Birthday gift from me. 
> 
> I was going to originally add this into a longer chapter detailing the night before and the morning of the next day of their heist. I decided to separate it, just in case you are wanting to skip the sexy scenes. 
> 
> This partially took so long because of the time of year, but also because I have literally never written anything remotely smutty, and I was having kind of a crisis. I am completely open to constructive criticism, but please be nice! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for all of the support! I can't believe the view count and subscriptions keep going up. It's all very surreal to me.

The lakes and trees had long since fallen away to the towering overpasses and the shiny skyscrapers. Arya shifted in her seat, yet again. Her legs were cramping after the nearly two hours in the back seat of the Challenger. She’d had too much to drink last night and not enough water, and the dehydration was getting to her now and that dehydration pain was exacerbated by the frankly unbelievable lack of leg room in the stupid car. She scowled as she shifted again, turning sideways as far as the seat belt would let her, and stretched out again. Taking a deep breath, knowing the end of the ride was near, she gently set her head on the window and closed her eyes, shifting yet again, feeling a new soreness, a small crooked smile tugged at her lips.

  
  


…

  
  
  


_ Last Night _

She'd been turned on for so long, it felt almost like she had no choice to just submit to the weight of it on her stomach. The sparring session had been one of Arya’s worst and best ideas ever. The way Gendry's muscles flexed and moved and the little beads of sweat that made their way down his body earlier had nearly done her in. Fighting him had been a crushingly erotic experience. Like the sexiest foreplay she'd ever experienced. The tension was so thick it felt like it was enveloping them in a cocoon. She kept telling herself that she had to keep it professional. They'd be working together at least for two more days. 

On top of that, she was not interested in a relationship. After what they'd been through, both the Stark girls built walls. Sansa’s were literal, with her locks and long sleeves and empty courtesies. Arya built hers internally. Very, very few people had been let in. Besides her family, she could count on one hand the people who truly knew her. It wasn't the commitment she feared. It was the loss of control that came with feeling deeply for someone that scared her shitless. That wasn't something she wanted to experience any time soon. 

But this? 

This she could do. 

Gendry followed her in, slamming the door shut with his foot, maintaining eye contact. Arya could practically feel the heat radiating from Gendry's gaze. It was like she was boiling alive, the bubbles buzzing and popping all the way down to her toes. 

She didn’t dare move a muscle as he took several steps towards her; something in the look in Gendry's eyes made her freeze like a deer who'd been spotted by a predator. Unlike the deer, Arya very much wanted to be devoured. She wondered if he knew how dangerous he could look. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation and saw Gendry's eyes flick down at the movement. He let out a soft groan, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. ‘ _ Okay, maybe he’s still more endearing than dangerous,’  _ she thought with a smile. He stopped close enough to her that she could make out the small brown spot at the top of his right iris, and he the freckles dotting across her nose. They stood like that, staring into each other's eyes and breathing heavily until her voice broke the spell. 

"You okay?" She asked amusedly.    
  


He gasped softly, then nodded. Surprising her, he grasped her waist and turned her swiftly, pressing his entire front against her back. 

"Arya, I need to to tell me what you want, explicitly," he murmured softly into her ear, trailing just his index finger under her right strap and dragging it down slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His voice, lower and rougher than before, made her shiver and her cunt tighten. 

"You want explicit consent, then?" She asked, mildly amused but also impressed.

He gripped her hip with his other hand, digging in his fingers and eliciting a soft moan from her. 

"Yes," he said, his mouth gently sucking down onto the place where her neck and shoulder met. She felt like she was melting. 

"Well," Arya's voice cracked. "I  _ explicitly  _ want you to take my clothes off and help clean my hair in the shower." She purposely stopped there, cracking a tiny smirk as he hesitated a bit, as if nervous he misread things. 

"And then I  _ explicitly _ want you to fuck me better and harder than you've ever fucked in your life. Is that explicit enough for you? Is that what you needed?" She asked, innocently. 

Gendry had frozen, his breathing labored. Arya could feel the distinct outline of his impressive erection against her back. It was delicious and she wanted more. 

Instead of answering, both of his hands crept around to her stomach, just below her navel, and gently slid across, sending tingles downwards and a new flush of wetness into her underwear. She let out a small moan as his hands slowly slid upwards, gently crossing her faint scars. He was still sucking gently on her neck. 

“You know,” he growled into her skin, “you’re kind of a little shit.” That made Arya burst out into laughter. She could feel his grin against her flushed skin. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” 

The next moment happened so quickly that Arya was left breathless. Gendry scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, as if she weighed nothing. She supposed that’s probably how she felt to him, if the muscles underneath her stomach were any indication. 

They both erupted into raucous laughter as Gendry turned around in a circle, found what he was looking for, and made a dash for her bathroom. Without putting her down, he threw on the lights and twisted the handle of the shower, causing water to come pouring out in a loud gush. 

“...Gendry…” Arya said, warningly. She wiggled against his arms, but no matter how much she moved, she was trapped. 

He wasn’t listening, however. 

“Is your phone on you?” 

“No…” she said, cautiously. He turned his head to make eye contact with her, and threw her a wolfish grin. 

“Good.” 

Then he jumped into her old black claw footed bathtub and pushed them both, still fully clothed, under the spray. Luckily, it was warm water by then, but she still yelped in a completely embarrassing manner. 

Gendry lowered her, but not quite to the base of the tub, her feet still hovering somewhere around his knees. Arya stared into Gendry’s eyes, their faces so close their noses were touching. It felt like time had stilled as they breathed in eachothers air, the tension so thick it was almost painful. 

Then it snapped. Gendry dove forward the last few inches and their lips met. Arya wound around Gendry like a vine, her arms wrapping around his neck and her legs around his waist. 

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Arya couldn't think of a time she’d been kissed like _ that.  _ Her heart was racing, her eyes had glazed over. The hot water was filling her bathroom with steam, cocooning them in. 

They were both still wearing their clothes, and the water had soaked them to the skin. Arya wanted very much to feel his skin against hers, so she started tearing at her clothes. Gendry stood there, open mouthed as she finally pulled off her sports bra. 

"Gendry. Take your clothes off," she said, with some humor. 

He continued to stare at her breasts for a moment and then snapped back to life with a nod and a "Right! Right." His drenched shirt was the first to come off, then he slid his boxers and pants down at the same time. It was Arya’s turn to gawk.  _ 'Holy shit, he's a fucking specimen.'  _ Her mouth dropped open inelegantly. 

Gendry started to look around, apparently unaware of her staring. 

"Gendry?," she asked.

"Shampoo?" 

His question threw her off. "What?" 

He gave her a crooked grin. "You told me you wanted me to help you wash your hair." 

"Behind you," she said, pointing to three brown glass bottles affixed to the tiled wall. "Sansa got them in French, so Shampooing is--"

"Shampoo, yeah. I got it." He pumped a small amount into his palm and turned to her with his palm outstretched. He frowned at her surprised expression. "What?" he asked. It's so surprising that I speak another language?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Just get over here and shampoo my hair,  _ garçon."  _

The feeling of Gendry's hands digging into her hair made her make what would have been some incredibly embarrassing noises, had it not been obvious that he quite enjoyed them. She couldn't help but wonder if this felt  _ this  _ good, how fucking fantastic the rest of the night was going to go. 

After a few minutes, Gendry stepped back, detaching the brass shower head from the hook, and gently rinsed the shampoo out. Then, he replaced the shower head and drew back to pump some conditioner into his hand. Then, he repeated the process, except focusing on the ends of her hair. While he was doing that with his right hand, his left was slowly massaging her neck and shoulder. It felt positively sinful. 

After rinsing her hair the second time, he went to the third pump, depositing the fragrant, yellow, almond shower oil. Arya turned to him then, his eyes meeting hers. 

His hands pushed and pulled, eliciting even filthier moans from her lips than before. Every time he got close to her center, her hips bucked involuntarily. His eyes twinkled as he watched her, clearly amused at her helplessness. 

" _ Gendry"  _

"We're almost there. I want to make sure you're all clean, milady," he said. 

Finally, he finished with the oil. He disconnected the shower head, and then moved it around her body, rinsing her off. He made sure not to go anywhere she wanted, however. Arya wanted to scream or cry, or pass out. She couldn't handle it anymore. Gendry seemed to recognize her tipping point, finally,  _ finally _ , directing the spray right at her clitoris. 

Arya threw back her head and let out a scream. She was sure the rest of the house heard it, but she didn't give a fuck. 

Gendry silenced the tail end of her ecstatic scream with another searing kiss, causing Arya to let out another loud groan. She bit his bottom lip in thanks and retaliation, earning herself a groan of her own. 

They finally parted, breathing heavily. 

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" Arya asked. 

Gendry shook his head with a smile. "No, I've got a better idea." 

He slid down to his knees slowly, biting and sucking on bits of her body as he slid. He stopped at her tattoo, a tiny crescent moon nestled on her hip, dangerously close to her now-swollen nether lips. The only reason Gendry could even see it now is because she kept herself completely bare. She giggled, both from being ticklish and also from the memory of convincing her prim and proper sister to go under the needle for a matching tattoo. The only way she’d been able to do it was by making sure it was tiny and well-hidden. She shook her head to clear out thoughts of Sansa. She was not welcome in the room right now. 

She moaned loudly, unable to contain herself when he licked the tiny crescent thoroughly. He continued to lick and nibble as he slid one long digit into her, causing her knees to buckle. She could see him smiling wolfishly as he moved his other arm around to support her. 

He seemed to get an idea then, and slowly slid his arm down her body all the way down to her foot before bringing her left leg up over his shoulder. It opened her up to him completely, and he took that as a signal to slide in another finger, continuing his smooth, almost lazy stroking. He developed a pattern, curling his fingers with every third thrust, speeding up as her moans got louder. 

Finally, finally, his mouth found her center. He licked his tongue up in one powerful swipe up her slit, then up and around her clit, letting out a filthy groan at her taste. Then he latched on with his lips, sucking softly as the tip of his tongue tapped slowly. Ayra quite literally saw stars. As she got louder, the control on her body lessening, his fingers inside of her, now three and impossibly thick, sped up. Arya could barely breathe, she wanted to come more than she'd ever wanted anything. His suction got tighter, his tongue faster, and she opened her eyes, looking down at Gendry as he worked. He was gazing intently at her, their eyes meeting. The sight of him, wet with water and her juices, pupils blown and dark, is what sent her over the edge into the black abyss of the most powerful orgasm she'd ever had. Luckily, Gendry could more than support her weight, because when she came to, she was in his arms, his hand rubbing her back softly. 

"Take me to bed."

He didn't waste any time carrying her out of the tub, not even stopping to grab towels. In his haste, he stumbled on the rug, which elicited laughs from both of them. 

He delivered her to the bed, letting her down slowly, so her entire body slid across his erect length. They both let out soft moans. 

Mirroring their actions earlier in the evening, Arya grinned and gently pushed Gendry down onto her bed. "Sit," she said, not ungently. "Are you clean?" 

Gendry nodded emphatically, the sincerity of which made Arya crack another smile. 

“Noted,” she said, and without another word, she dug into her nightstand and pulled out a condom. 

Many people have called Arya stubborn in her life. Those people were not wrong. When she got an idea in her head, nobody could talk her out of it. It was now her main directive to fuck Gendry until neither could function like normal the next day. 

Arya lowered herself to her knees between Gendry's legs. Before sliding on the condom, she took a moment to lick the head of his cock, lapping up the moisture that had gathered there. Gendry’s hands flew to her hair, not pushing, but pulling a bit on her hair. Everything about this felt fucking delicious to Arya. She decided to reward him by swallowing down every inch of his sizable length, stopping only when her nose was being tickled by his dark thatch of hair. Gendry's moaning increased, as did his grip on her hair. 

She'd have to do this again later, though, because she'd had enough waiting. She needed him inside of her  _ now.  _

She pulled off of him and slid the condom on, giving him a couple extra tugs. She looked up at his eyes, now more black than blue, and half closed. ' _ Beautiful _ .'

"Milady-," he started, but Arya cut him off. 

"I told you not to call me that," she said, and she shoved him back onto the bed, now fully supine. They both wore matching crooked grins as she straddled him, her hands reaching behind her, grasping him. Arya tried to ignore the look in his eyes. She also decided to ignore the feeling it gave her. Then, she lowered herself down. 

...

Gendry woke up first, surprised to find Arya still tucked up under his arm, against his side. Gendry could smell the shampoo he'd used the night before emanating from her still-damp hair. There was a soft glow coming from the lamp on her bedside table, which Arya had turned on during her trip to the bathroom before they’d gone to sleep, but through the window, he could see the sky was still dark. 

He took this moment to look around her room. He hadn’t really had the time or the presence of mind to do so last night. Her room was mostly neutrals, blacks and whites, but covered in paintings and photographs, small fiber works and edged weapons of various shapes and sizes. It seemed like this room was like a little warehouse for Arya’s treasures. He didn’t think too much on how exactly she’d obtained some of the antiques. 

Frankly, he’d expected something much weirder from her. A warehouse containing only a bed and a rack of various harnesses? Definitely. What he didn’t expect was a fairly normal bedroom positively  _ bursting  _ with plants. 

Everywhere he looked, he saw green. 

It was bizarre. 

Deciding he’d looked enough at the rubber tree in the corner, he turned his attention to the tiny woman in his arms. Her pale skin glowed in the dim light. He gently slid his hands over her skin, reveling in the softness. It was surprising, he thought, that a woman as hard on the outside could be so soft. Here, in her home, with her eyes closed, and completely at ease, he didn’t think he’d ever seen something so peaceful. 

So absorbed was he in Arya, he jumped a little at her raspy voice. 

"You gonna stare at me all night, or are you going to fuck me again,” she asked, her mouth pulling up on one corner. 

Gendry mirrored her smirk as her hands began to wander up his body, and didn’t have to think twice about his answer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will get back to the car ride in the next chapter. I just couldn't get that image out of my head, and had to run with it for the beginning of this chapter. 
> 
> I have the images picked out for a picset, but I need to wait until my computer is fixed to post it.


	10. "Women Love Crêpes"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of, and Sandor has a nice surprise for Sansa--I mean, the team. Yeah. A surprise for the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! The holidays were a nightmare, but I'm hoping from here on out, the updates will be much more regular. Thank you all again for sticking around! Once again, I promise to have the picsets made as soon as my computer is back up and running.

Sansa woke with the sun, as always. It was a habit she developed in King’s Landing, sleeping lightly and waking at dawn. She supposed she slept better now. Much better when Arya slept just below her in her strange, plant-filled room. Sansa didn’t quite get her sister’s fascination with plants, but she never questioned it and always remembered to water them when Arya was gone on “business.”

It made her smile, thinking about Arya and her plants. Arya pretended she was nothing like their mom, and certainly it was easy to do when outwardly, Arya was so much Stark and Sansa was so much Tully. But that wasn’t really the case. Sansa looked like Catelyn, but she could be as cold and unforgiving as the North. Most people were afraid of Arya, but those who really knew them, knew to fear Sansa the most. Arya was fearsome, but most of that was to cover up how soft she was on the inside. She loved animals and plants, choosing to pour her nurturing instincts into beings that couldn’t hurt her. Even before Sansa’s abuse and Arya’s time on the streets, they’d always been that way. Sansa could paint and draw, sew and sing, but she killed every green thing she touched, and unless she was being someone else, she often truly struggled to make friends. Arya favored military history and math, MMA and travel, but she cried when the animal died in any movie and befriended every stranger she came across. 

They’d been like that their whole lives, but even more so when their parents and Robb died. Sansa had to step up to make all the arrangements, because Arya was an inconsolable mess. After everything had settled down, Sansa took care of keeping a home for them, and Arya channeled her grief into copious theft and cultivating dozens of local and unique plants. They never talked about it, though. There was no reason to. When Arya traveled, she left Sansa a list of care instructions, and though she’d killed one or two over the years, Sansa did her best. 

Sansa had a lot planned for the day. She wanted to work out, then she needed to shower, put in her demi-permanent dye and let it sit while she picked out her outfits for the next few days. For _Alayne._ Then rinse, style, breakfast. Then she was off to the races. She’d have to stop off at Myranda’s house to borrow her car. Alayne would never drive a Subaru like Sansa does. No, not a powder blue Subaru that was bought specifically for the practicality and the pretty blue hue. Randa’s black Mercedes, however, would do nicely. 

She dressed and descended the stairs, fiddling with the music app on her phone. As Sansa walked by the small room designated as a gym, she was startled enough to nearly drop her phone. Pouring out through the ajar door, she heard the sounds of Led Zeppelin pounding out of the Bluetooth speakers situated around the room accompanied by distinctly male grunting. She smiled when she realized which song was playing.  _ Black Dog.  _

She continued through the halls and out the door onto the running track around her house. A few miles were just what the doctor ordered. She needed to straighten up her thoughts that were rather uncharacteristically messily stacked into a pile in her brain. ‘ _ Which plants will I need to water for Arya this week? Is the house payment due Thursday or Friday? I’ve got to fill up on gas before I trade cars with Randa. Should I make cinnamon rolls or french toast for breakfast today? I’m almost out of vanilla extract. Sandor smells unbelievably good. Bran will be having his finals soon. I should probably put together a care package for him. A new metal water bottle might be nice. Does he prefer blue or black ink in his pens? I’m quite enjoying those new purple pens. I think I'm favoring the color grey lately. Before I leave tonight, I must change my sheets out…. _

As her body warmed up and her legs got more sore, the thoughts dissipated. She mentally filed them all away in neat little packages. By mile five, she’d decided on bacon and scrambled egg whites, french toast and fresh fruit for breakfast. She’d made a list of what to send to Bran for his finals, and remembered he liked pencils the most. Everything was in its correct place. The slight tightness in her lungs and the beating of her heart helped center her. By the time she’d finished her run, she was red in the face and sweaty all over, but she felt more human than she had before it. She knew the long shower that loomed in her future would help even more. 

She quirked a smile as she passed the gym, Sandor’s music and grunts still emanating through the closed door. 

…

Sandor finished up his morning workout just as the last notes of his playlist faded into silence, and headed upstairs to take a quick shower after wiping down the equipment with the towel and spray bottle he’d found. Sandor found himself hurrying. He’d assumed Sansa was generally tasked with making breakfast, but wanted to beat her to it. He’d been dying to get his hands on their kitchen since he’d first seen it last night. It wasn’t everyday that that old dog got to cook in a high-end kitchen. Maybe the thought of how her face would light up upon being surprised by breakfast helped...a bit. 

He heard the gentle swishing of the water pouring down their pipes as he passed Sansa’s door. Thinking about her in the shower made hisbskin feel like it was too small for his body. He shook his headlining, knowing that was an unproductive path. He hoped they’d sprung for a good enough water heater for two showers at once, long enough for him to work out his frustration. Knowing what little he knew of Sansa, he assumed she would settle for nothing but the best and most efficient. Fifteen minutes of scorching water later, his assumptions proved correct. As he stepped out of the shower, refreshed, his skin steaming slightly in the cool air. Sansa’s shower was still running when he made his way down stairs, the house otherwise silent. He walked past the couch that was meant to be the kid’s bed for the night, noting, with a snort, that both he and his bag were nowhere to be found. In his place was an empty beer bottle on its side and the corner of the area rug folded over, suspiciously close to Arya’s door. ‘ _ At least someone’s getting some.’ _

After a careful perusal of the kitchen to evaluate their supplies, then to locate the tools, Sandor set to work. He wanted something with a heavy amount of protein; both for his personal taste and to sustain the entire team for the long day ahead. He also assumed his little bird ate like an  _ actual  _ little bird, so he knew he wanted to make something sweet and fruity. After assessing his materials, he decided on crêpes. He’d only have to make the one batter, and then everyone could pick their fillings. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he wanted to impress Sansa. He knew women loved crêpes. For some reason, they just had this thing with crêpes. He didn’t question it. He’d never made them for a woman before, though. He decided not to read too much into that.

About thirty minutes later, the kitchen was bursting with the scent of fresh strawberries and nutella, jalapenos and cheddar cheese. A generous helping of an expensive roast was dribbling from the coffee maker, enveloping the kitchen into a cloud of its fragrance. He figured he’d make a pile of them and keep them warm in the oven, but would dress his and Sansa’s crêpes first. Seemed fair considering they were the only ones awake, to his knowledge. It had nothing to do with wanting to make sure Sansa’s was as fresh as possible. 

He’d settled on a sweet crêpe for Sansa, with strawberries, bananas, and Nutella he’d found in the cabinet that had yet to be opened. He topped it off with freshly made whipped cream (he’d nearly came right then and there when he discovered his little bird springs for the expensive Dornish vanilla) and a light dusting of powdered sugar. For his own, he’d shoveled in a large majority of the scrambled eggs he’d made, and added the shredded sharp cheddar, jalapenos, and bacon he’d found in the fridge. 

He anxiously inspected every aspect of the spread, running his hand through his hair, forgetting he’d pulled it up in a bun. 

“This looks wonderful,” her soft voice nearly whispered from the doorway. So focused on his task, he hadn’t even noticed the shower turning off. 

Sandor glanced up, soaking in the image of Sansa in her soft ivory bathrobe with her hair pulled up into what looked like a lilac silk turban. She was beaming, her eyes gazing at him,  _ him- not the breakfast. _ She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

“Oh, this? It’s just something I whipped up,” he said, with a crooked grin. She walked into the kitchen, getting a closer look at the food spread out across the island. He felt awkward all of a sudden; embarrassed about how much he’d done. “Here,” he said, pushing the plate containing her crêpe towards her. “This one’s for you.” 

Her eyes got bigger, eyebrows shooting up. “For me? I love crêpes!” she said, in a small, surprised voice. He tried not to feel smug.  _ Women love crêpes.  _

“I take it you don’t get breakfast made for you very often?”

She shook her head as she walked behind him to get a fork from the cutlery drawer. It was on his left side, and as he turned his head to look at her, he could see a thin piece of dark hair falling from her turban. He gently touched it, his finger and thumb encompassing it. Sansa froze, then took a deep breath. She wasn’t afraid, just startled. He hummed inquisitively. 

“It’s for the con. I can’t be Sansa. Changing my hair helps,” she said. “It’s not permanent.”

He nodded, realizing he was still holding onto her hair. “I hope not.”

She smiled at him, walking past to sit down at one of the stools on the other side of the island, directly across from Sandor. 

“You prefer red to brown?” she asked, playfully.

“If it looks like yours, I do,” he said, brazenly. 

She sucked in a small breath. They gazed at each other for another moment, interrupted by the sound of Tyrion marching down the hallway, already dressed and carrying his overnight bag. 

Sansa shivered and directed her attention to her breakfast. Sandor did the same. 

“Wow, look at this! Clegane, I knew I’d like working with you,” he said, with a smile, stealing a piece of bacon off of the plate. 

"Ye-ah," Sandor nearly croaked. He cleared his throat. "crêpes are in the oven. Fill it however."

Tyrion did just that, getting busy making up his breakfast.

"Coffee's good." None of them had heard or seen Arya arriving, but suddenly she was there, drinking out of her glass mug, sipping deeply on the black roast. Tyrion jumped a bit, but afterwards just chuckled. Sandor was getting used to the little wolf just appearing places, but he assumed Tyrion wasn't getting used to that any time soon. 

"Ooh! crêpes? I love crêpes!" 

Arya helped herself, not nearly as polite as her sister. She loaded hers up with fruit, and rather disgustingly, bacon. 

They proceeded to eat their breakfast with a little small talk. Discussing the days ahead. A few minutes later, Gendry emerged, clearly from Arya’s bedroom, hair damp from a shower. 

"Hey guys. Ooh! crêpes!" Sandor rolled his eyes. "Got any--"

Arya cut him off. "Orange juice is in the fridge." 

"Oh. Sure, thanks."

Gendry got his juice and filled up his crêpe, then joined the rest of the crew--no, the collection of solo criminals-- at the rough-edged island. 

"Gendry, I'm glad you're finally up," Tyrion started. "We need to head down to the city as soon as possible. We've got a lot of prep for the rest of the day." 

Gendry nodded. The two men made plans to drop Tyrion off at his new hotel and then to meet up in Gendry's loft for the con. Arya, Sandor, and Sansa would all be needed at the Fingers Aerospace building, and then they'd all meet up back at the loft. Sansa wouldn't risk being caught with any of the others. To do so would mean their entire plan was ruined, so she would drive down separately. That meant Arya and Sandor would be stuck riding down together. Sansa was unsure of who was more displeased with that arrangement. 

"Shit," Sandor said. "Lannister, do you know if your hotel has any vacancies? I forgot to arrange for a new one." When Tyrion raised his eyebrows at his lack of planning, Sandor growled. "I WAS BUSY BEING BLOWN UP, OKAY?!"

Sansa smiled. "You can stay here...if you want." The whole team turned to her. "I just mean, there's room, and I prefer not being alone, anyways. That way you can drive Arya up, too." 

Arya shook her head. "I've made sleeping arrangements in the city, but I think that's a good idea. Plus, just in case Baelish is on to us, you'd at least have protection." 

Sandor nodded at that. Sansa held her breath, waiting for him to decide. After a moment, in which he looked like he'd been weighing his options, he nodded."Yeah, I guess I can stay here." 

They made eye contact and Sansa couldn't hold in the beaming smile she wore. 

…

The next two hours were a whirlwind of activity. Tyrion and Gendry left, despite the latter’s efforts to stay and help clean the kitchen. Sansa was appreciative, but she didn’t want to jeopardize the mission over a sink of dirty dishes. As soon as Gendry left, Arya headed to the gym for a workout that suspiciously took the exact same amount of time as cleaning the kitchen. Like the gentleman Sansa knew Sandor to be, Sandor more than pulled his weight in the cleaning. It was nice to have help. She was so used to being alone. Looking over and seeing the giant of a man scrubbing the dishes with her pink sponge, head nodding to the beat of the song she’d put on, filled her with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. 

Eventually, both Sandor and Arya were ready to go. Sansa giggled to herself as Sandor forced her sister into the back of his car with a rule of “no speaking.” ‘ _ Good luck with that, buddy,’  _ she thought with a smile. 

…

One rule. He had one rule in his car. No speaking. How long had it taken for the little wolf to break his rule? Two minutes and 4 seconds. 

“So. What are your intentions with my sister?”

Sandor rolled his eyes and looked in the rear view mirror at her. Her eyes were a reflection of his own, in color and in stubbornness. 

“What are your intentions with the Waters kid?” 

Arya frowned. 

“Well played,” she said, finally, with a shrug. 

They rode in silence for another few minutes, until eventually Sandor thought he heard a soft snoring from the back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to have Sansa cooking breakfast. However, in the show, Eliot is an avid chef, and I thought it would be fun to have Sandor also love to cook. 
> 
> The bit about crêpes came from season 3 of Top Chef. One of my favorites, CJ was tasked with making breakfast for Padma (the host) and said "Women love crêpes. For some reason, you guys just have this thing with crêpes. I don't know why. I don't want to know why... If there was another Spice GIrl it would be Crêpe Spice." I've always thought that quote was hilarious. There's a wonderful crêpe restaurant in our town that is open all hours of the night, and let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've drunkenly eaten a freshly-made crêpe.


	11. "Don't Ever Doubt the Stark Sisters Again."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The con begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick content warning: Baelish has some POV here and...he's gross, guys. There are some brief mentions of dub/noncon situations, though not described. If that's something that bothers you, feel free to skip Ros' POV section. She only has the one, so you'll know it when you get there. 
> 
> Quick reminder: Text written in bold means someone is speaking over the comms
> 
> Thank you all again for the support! I am truly honored.

Petyr Baelish had a busy schedule. He had three meetings today. ‘ _ Two of which could have been done in an email,’  _ he thought, with disgust. He was tired of this. The day to day tediousness and monotony. Petyr could count the days until the shareholders meeting where he would unveil his newest designs, and he was sure the board would be unable to ignore his brilliance any longer. He deserved to be CEO. Enough was enough. 

He'd gone out to lunch today; he'd been served by a particularly busty waitress. His face broke into a slow grin thinking about how her ass had felt in his hands and how shamelessly she’d flirted. He’d be returning. 

As he strolled in his office, his eyes met Ros’ cleavage. It was the reason he’d hired her. Today her ample curves were pouring precariously out of a red lace number, one that was certainly not appropriate in many other offices, but those offices weren’t run by Petyr Baelish. He licked his lips. Ros noticed his presence and looked up at him from her seat. It was a beautiful visual, and one he'd seen many times before. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Baelish. Your two o’clock is here.” 

He rolled his eyes in derision. “Of course,” he scoffed. Ros gestured at the seating area around the corner. “Give me ten minutes, and then send him in.” He turned his back before he could see her eyes narrow.

“Yes, sir.”

Ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. Ros knew better than to knock loudly. It bothered him. Just like loud chewing, gluten intolerance, and incompetence. 

“I have Alayne Stone, for you, Mr. Baelish.” She held the door with her back, thrusting her chest out like she knew he liked. 

Petyr felt his eyes bug out and his mouth dry up when he saw who his meeting was with, this Alayne Stone. It was like his favorite porn come to life. He started at the floor and made his way up. She wore pointed stilettos the color of her skin, her thin ankles were wrapped with cords. Her legs were miles long, with strong calves and skin the same color as the antique ivory on his favorite revolver. Her black dress ended just inches above her knees, but it hugged her soft curves all the way up, where it ended in an asymmetrical neckline, showing just a hint of her cleavage on one side. 

She watched, silently, obediently, as his hungry eyes hovered at her breasts, then slid up onto her face. She bit into her bottom lip as he watched. He couldn’t help but imagine what those pink lips would look like wrapped around his cock. His eyes slithered up into her eyes, staring, wide and blue. As their eyes met, she blushed and looked downward, only to gaze up through her thick eyelashes at him. Her dark hair, pulled up with two pieces coming undone around her face, framed them and her pale skin perfectly. She looked like the perfect porcelain sex doll; made just for him. His lips split into a wide grin. 

“Of course, Mrs. Stone! Thank you, Ros,” he said, without a single look in Ros’ direction. Ros smiled and left, closing the door without being asked.  _ ‘Good girl,’  _ he thought. “Come, sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. 

Alayne smiled at him as she said demurely, her dress rising up as she sat, revealing a few more inches of perfect, creamy legs.

“Mr. Baelish, Alayne Stone, Essos Commercial Transport and Trade Initiative,” she purred. 

…

“So what are we going to do when she blows this?” Gendry asked Tyrion, as kindly as he could. They were alone in his loft, with Gendry at his computer and Tyrion perched behind him, looking over his shoulder. “I like the girl, I do, but our lives are at stake here.”

Tyrion didn’t disagree. “I have faith in Sansa. Besides, Arya says she can do it. Would you want to disagree with Arya?” he asked, a sly smile on his face. 

Gendry just sighed and turned back to his computer. They noted the time and slid in their comms. 

Suddenly, the sounds of Baelish’s office and the soft breathing of Arya located somewhere in the depths of the building filled their right ears. 

...

Baelish spoke first. “Are you from the government?”

Alayne smiled. Baelish knew she wasn’t. He just wanted her to be flattered that he thought her competent. She’d sized him up immediately. He thought he was the smartest guy in any room. Worse, he thought he was owed something from everyone, including, and _ especially  _ women. Those were always the worst. She had to be meek enough to be intriguing, but saucy enough for him to think he stood a chance. She had to be smart--no airhead would work here, but she had to make Baelish think he was much smarter than her.  _ ‘Which he isn't.’  _

“No, no. We’re a private business consortium. We are looking to encourage infrastructure development and economic renewal.” 

Baelish smiled a clearly disingenuous smile. “I have no idea what that means in the Common Tongue. What does it mean?” he said, with a chuckle. ‘ _ Ugh. What a charmer...trying to be funny.’ _

Alayne laughed at his joke.  _ ‘Give him what he wants.’ _ “We create jobs and trade in Essos. Keep the graft and the stealing manageable. 

Tyrion was impressed by her flawless accent and clean delivery. Gendry just gaped at him. 

Arya’s soft voice rang in their ears.  **“This is her stage. Sansa Stark is the finest actress you’ve ever seen… when she’s fucking with evil men.** ” Then, after a beat: “ **And don’t ever doubt the Stark sisters again.”**

Alayne smiled, listening to the voices in her ear while examining her nails. She’d painted them this morning; Wicked, just like Alayne. She couldn’t think of a color less like Sansa Stark.  _ Perfect.  _

Baelish shook his head at her previous comment, unaware of the conversation going on in Alayne’s ear. “Keep graft and stealing manageable in Essos? Good luck but I don’t think I can help. I don’t think anyone could.” Alayne didn’t think he looked sorry at all. 

Remembering her directive, she smiled seductively at him. “Come on. Let’s go and talk somewhere...a little less formal.”

Baelish’s eyes widened, then narrowed, the left corner of his mouth curling up. 

Without waiting for his answer, Alayne gracefully lifted herself out of her chair, slung her borrowed black ostrich Birkin over her shoulder, and made her way to his office door. 

“Of course,” he said, following after. 

Alayne led the way, eager to get him out of his office as quickly as possible without raising any suspicions. Baelish was only too eager to bring up the rear, clearly watching her conspicuously swaying backside. ‘ _ Good.’ _

Tyrion counted to ten, making sure Sansa had led Baelish a safe distance away before speaking to the other three. 

“Okay...and now.”

Gendry hit a few keys, grinning at his screen. “Done.”

The two of them watched the security camera on his screen as the screen on Ros’ desk went blue. She gasped in horror, hitting buttons haphazardly and frantically to get it back up and running. “Shit! He’s going to kill me!” 

Tyrion smiled. “And five, four, three, two…”

Cozily situated in an air duct, Arya let out a disbelieving laugh as her phone rang just as Tyrion was about to say “one” in her ear. 

Arya answered as the phone rang again, using an exaggerated “happy customer service” voice that made her want to puke.

“Hello, IT!”

She’d hooked the phone up to the building’s interior wiring, meaning she would get the distress call from the secretary, and not the actual IT department.

She heard a frantic voice on the other end. “Yeah, this is Ros from Petyr Baelish’s office. My--my computer just completely crashed.” Ros sounded actually bereft. Arya almost felt bad for her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that! Did you try turning it on and off again?”

Gendry smiled at Tyrion. “Ha! I told her to say that!”

Ros let out a groan. “Yes, nothing seems to be working!”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at Gendry, trying to listen to the conversation over his comms. “Well done.”

Arya continued. “Well good news! We’ve got someone on your floor already. He’ll be right there!” Then, forgetting about salutations, hung up. 

Confused by the abrupt end to the call, but deeply relieved that she’d still be alive come the morning, Ros buried her head into her hands. Not five minutes later, she heard a deep, rumbling voice coming from the door. 

“Somebody call IT?”

Ros looked up from where she’d previously buried her head in her hands. 

“Oh.”

One might have, from the outside, believed Ros to be attracted to slight, delicate men like her boss. Sure, she had engaged in...certain activities with him on a unfortunately regular basis…

The first time was a mistake. She was brand new with the company, just out of school, and she was lured in by his intelligence and success. It quickly became clear that she had no choice in the matter. Over time she became genuinely afraid of the repercussions of her actions. “No” was not a word he agreed with. She’d seen too many terrible things happen to those who crossed Mr. Baelish. No, instead, she’d continue to pretend to be attracted to him. This punishment was infinitely preferable to coming home to her six year-old son murdered or an “accident” after her brakes were mysteriously cut. Ros was afraid of Petyr Baelish to the bone. 

What she wasn’t afraid of was the nearly seven foot tall hunk of tattooed computer nerd that was standing in front of her. She knew better than to flirt in front of Mr. Baelish, but he wasn’t around at the moment. Considering the eyes he’d been making at that Alayne girl, Ros assumed they would probably be gone for the remainder of the afternoon. 

He was just her type. Tall, taller than tall, with muscles bursting from the button-down shirt he wore. He was sporting thick glasses (her favorite) and a utilitarian watch, one completely unlike the fake Rolex that Baelish wore on the regular. She felt herself start to salivate when she noticed the tattoos that ran up and his arm and into the sleeve ( _ ‘Where else does he have them?’)  _ and the thick dark hair pulled back into a bun.  __ He had a thin dusting of facial hair, and he had unbearably sexy scars running down one side of his face. 

Her salivating mouth certainly wasn’t the wettest thing about her. 

…

Alayne led Baelish outside to the waterfront just across the street. It was a beautiful day, a rarity this time of year. The views of the Sound must have been wonderful, not that Alayne assumed that Baelish ever noticed. He didn’t seem the type to take notice of any beauty he couldn’t own. 

“To continue our business, Mr. Baelish, I represent a group of investors who are looking to start an airline for short tour flights in Essos,” she said with a smile. 

Baelish met her eyes, a flicker of something brewing behind them. “Flights out of Yunkai?”

**Tyrion: Okay, he’s testing you. You want Carcosa.**

Alayne fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. “We try to stay away from the hubs. We really aim to revitalize the regional airports. In Essos, we have business in Carcosa, for example. But really, it’s Braavos we’re focused on.”

**Tyrion: Yeah, perfect.**

Baelish bought it. “You want to revitalize the small airports? How are you going to do that? Most of their airport runways are trash,” he scoffed. 

Alayne flashed him her best understanding smile. “I believe new airplanes will make people more comfortable while we renew old runways. Which is where you come in.”

Baelish shook his head, turning to look instead at the boats behind her. “Uh huh. I don’t recall saying anything about new airplanes.”

**Tyrion: Okay, he’s suspicious. Ease him in.**

“Now, now, Mr. Baelish, both you and your chief engineer are scheduled to speak at your shareholder’s meeting. Which tells me you’ve got something big coming out.”

“I think you know more about my business than I do,” he said, with what Alayne supposed was his flirtatious smile. 

Alayne looked away from Baelish for the briefest of moments and then looked back up at him through her eyelashes, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “I’ve done my homework. I find you incredibly fascinating. Your leadership is almost as unparalleled as your taste.” he looked incredibly smug, and Alayne let out the internal breath she’d been holding.

...

Rolling her eyes at her sister’s words, Arya dropped down silently from the air shaft in Baelish’s office. "I'm in," she whispered gently. She spied Clegane's hulking form out the window just to the left of Baelish's desk, flirtin--distracting the secretary. She narrowed her eyes. It didn't matter if it was for the con; she didn't like it. 

Sandor, admittedly, did occasionally get this response from women. It just wasn’t generally done while a woman he actually cared about was listening in his ear. He was intensely uncomfortable with Ros’ sultry gaze, but if she looked away from him at any point, she’d see Arya and the con would be blown. So he continued on. He supposed he could make it up to the little bird with dinner...that is if it wasn’t awkward as fuck later. Whatever they had between them was undefined and murky, but he didn’t want to push her. Now, in the middle of a con, was certainly not the time to think about it. She had a job to do, and so did he. 

Sandor coughed gently to clear his throat. “Uh....let me show you how to...uh..reconnect with the network. 

Back in the loft, Gendry scoffed. “How come I don’t get to be the hot computer guy? I  _ am  _ the computer guy. Shouldn't I be playing the computer guy?

Tyrion shook his head, but kept his eyes on the monitor. “No, I want you to  _ actually be _ the computer guy.”

Arya snickered quietly to herself and pulled the small, black thumb drive out of her pants pocket. Not sparing the rest any thought while she worked, she quickly plugged it into the back of Baelish’s monitor and waited for the little light on the drive to light up. After a moment, she saw the little blue light, smiling. She ducked down under Baelish’s desk while Gendry’s little machine worked its magic. She might have been curious as to how it worked, but she knew it was hopeless trying to understand, so she didn’t bother. All that really mattered was that it  _ did  _ work. 

While it was...doing whatever Gendry needed it to do (he said it would turn red when done) she ducked down below Baelish’s ostentatious desk. It looked like a mix between the Resolute desk and something one of the Hussein’s would have used. She rolled her eyes.  _ ‘Baelish isn’t even trying to hide that he’s evil.’  _ Out of her back pocket, she pulled out a bug about the size of the Tiffany diamond (New York, 2016), and installed it to the underside of the desk. It had to be close enough to Baelish that it would pick up the audio, but far enough away that it was unobtrusive. She double checked the adhesion and the blinking red light, and then retreated, back into the ceiling. “Done,” she said, softly, into her comms. 

Sandor saw Arya climbing back into the ceiling out of the corner of his eye. She was nearly in Ros’ line of sight, too, so he slowly turned her chair towards him. “Let me show you how to reboot the system.” He covered her small, red-nailed hand with his large, callused hand in order to gently guide it to the mouse, pushing down on her pointer finger in order to click on an arbitrary box that Gendry was actually controlling back in his loft. 

“Done,” he murmured. 

Ros must be feeling bold, Sandor realized with an internal groan, because she gently grabbed Sandor’s bicep, which admittedly was causing quite the strain on his shirt sleeve, and let out the tiniest of moans. “You are strong for a computer guy!” she said, breathlessly. 

Sandor hummed noncommittally. “I like to work out and try to stay big ‘cause I love dressing up like an ancient Dothraki warrior...go to the LARPing events and stuff. My mom lets me use her sewing room for my costume.” He grinned to himself, knowing he’d piss off Gendry with that LARPing bullshit and the line about living with his mom. Ros was lapping it up, though. He leaned in closer and shouted “FICHAS JAHAKES MOON!” 

Ros jumped a bit, but kept that heated look in her eyes. If anything, it had gotten worse. 

“Oh, I  _ love  _ the Dothraki,” she said, leaning down onto her arm, so her cleavage was exposed more than it already had been. 

“A beautiful woman who likes history? Oh, don’t you dare tease me.”

**Gendry: Oh, what the hell man, that is not … that is not cool. That is not cool. I told you my parents lived with** ** _me!_** **And the LARPing…?** **We’re gonna have a strong talk when you get back.**

Finally arriving at the waterfront, Alayne was having trouble ignoring the nonsense going on in her ear. She’d feigned shyness in order to listen properly. Placing her arm on the railing, she turned to Baelish, making direct eye contact. 

“Uh, sorry is it Mrs. Stone?”

“No,” she giggled flirtatiously. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, without sounding even remotely sorry. 

“Miss. Miss Stone.”

Alayne smiled, her next move clear as day. She needed to reel him in, and she knew just what to do. She focused on Baelish’s eyes, her face intense, as she said “Alayne.” ‘ _ Make him think he can have me if he just gives me what I want.’ _

Baelishes eyes darkened. “Alayne, thank you. How’s this? If we announce a new product then you can order as many as your little heart desires.” 

Arya snorted in her ear.  **“Condescending prick.”** Alayne didn’t disagree. 

**Tyrion: Okay, you know what to do. Hit him.**

She turned further towards Baelish.  _ ‘Time to turn the charm on full blast, Alayne.’ “ _ We’d also like to build the planes. More jobs. Build them in Essos, fly them in Essos, sell the rest around the world.”

Baelish was intrigued. “Well, that’s very ambitious. You have the manufacturing facilities to do all that?”

She laughed. “If we know for certain we’re going to get the contracts.We can easily raise the money to build the facilities”

She heard another voice in her ear. This time it was deep and rough as stone. Having finished with Ros, he was clearly listening in for the fun of it. First, an amused chuckle, then a soft  **“Good girl.”**

Sansa sucked in a breath and felt herself flush a bit, her skin covered in goosebumps. She looked away towards the street in order to gather herself. She felt Alayne come back, sliding into place. 

In the moments that took, Baelish had been thinking. ‘ _ A thinking Baelish is a dangerous Baelish.’ _

Baelish had shut down. “Alayne, I’m really sorry but I can’t help you,” he said, shaking his head, looking morosely at her breasts, but again lacking in any sincerity. 

Gendry sighed. “It was a nice try, man. We got a lot further than I thought we would.” 

Tyrion smiled, eyes unwavering. “Wait for it.”

Alayne sighed. “I understand.”

Baelish seemed impatient to do business with someone he actually respected. He checked his (fake) Rolex. 

She had a thought. It was risky, but knowing what she knew about Baelish and his ego, it could work. “I’ll just have to go to Tarth.”

Baelish faltered for the first time, possibly genuinely offended. “Tarth? Uh, sure, go ahead, Tarth’s a great company, I don’t think they can help you, but…”

“Oh, they have a reputation for long-term investment, you don’t. They’re innovators. Yeah, it’s probably a better fit. Besides, my associates had picked them first, but ‘No, I want Petyr Baelish.’ It’ll be easy to convince them to go in the other direction. ”  _ ‘Please work, please work, please work.’ _

Baelish had turned a different shade, almost purple. “I’m aware that you’re manipulating me, Alayne.” The way he said it was unsettling. Almost like he saw this as foreplay. Alayne had to ignore the hairs rising on the back of her neck. ‘ _ This is for a con. This isn’t real. He can’t touch me.’ _

She forced a cheeky look onto her face. “Well I should hope so! Think about it. Hundreds of millions of crowns in new contracts, a lot of good press, anything you could ever want,” she leaned in gently, presenting herself to him, “all at your door.” She bit her bottom lip gently. 

Baelish’s eyes darkened. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Alayne smiled. “Wonderful! I’ll have my office call you...maybe the day after tomorrow?” 

**Tyrion: Okay…make your exit. Let’s leave him wanting more. Wonderful job.**

**Arya: Proud of you, sis.**

Baelish smirked. “Do that. I look forward to having a fruitful working relationship with you, Alayne.”

She turned to leave. In response, Alayne looked over her shoulder with a flirty smile. It was only once she’d gotten into her borrowed car and driven around the corner, did Sansa’s shoulders sag and eyes moisten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun notes!
> 
> Sansa is wearing the Jackie O dress from Black Halo, and I've coveted it since Meghan Markle wore it, so now I live vicariously through Sansa. (I've also always wanted an ostrich Hermes Birkin bag, but I'm gonna go ahead and not spend 20k on a purse. Yes, you've read correctly.)
> 
> I was actually wearing Essie's Wicked when I decided that Alayne would absolutely be a Wicked girl. Sansa would wear Mademoiselle and maaaaybe Marshmallow when she was feeling fun. 
> 
> Look, Eliot is a ladies man. I'm not going to push Sandor very far from that. I, and I assume many of you, think he's a babe. And in relation to how I wrote Ros' reaction to him, no matter how street smart I was, if there was a 6'8'' man-bunned, tattooed nerd coming towards me? I'd be done. I don't blame Ros, LOL
> 
> The show has Eliot referencing Star Trek, but I know very little about ST (though, fun fact, I was born while an episode played in the background) so it felt strange to leave it as such. I thought briefly of making it Doctor Who, but I couldn't think of a huge character that would be iconic enough to have a well-known line or language. So, Dothraki it is. Sandor says "Take his braid," or "Attack him."


End file.
